Unnamed
by Anlynne
Summary: She didn't have a history. She didn't have a name. She lived to die but her enemy refused to let that happen.
1. Chapter 1

No copyright infringement intended.

**Warning:** This is a dark story. Please do not read further if you think you can't handle it.

Chapter One

Then There Was Her

_When a person felt death's breath there was supposed to be flashing images of their life. Draco Malfoy heard about that. He was experiencing that. No, it wasn't him. It was her. Hermione Granger. The long-molard Mudblood. The smart, frizzy-haired pain in the arse._

_That had nothing to do with what was happening to him, did it? Seeing his life? Holidays, vacations, dotings, expectations, stress, and horrible images of the Dark Mark he couldn't shake._

_Then there was her. Her in that train asking about a wretched toad, her laughing with her friends, her raising her hands countless of times, her blank expression when he called her a Mudblood, her petrified, her slapping him, her at the Yule Ball. Her... Her... Her... Sweet bitterness fell on him at those memories, fresh, and real._

_To be fair he'd been feeling such at the sight of her being dragged into his Manor with her two friends. He couldn't identify her or her friends. It would mean their death. Not that it should matter, not that more dirty blood should make him care, but it was the thought of her blood. As for her friends... He couldn't do that to her. He didn't have a reason or a name for it - for why. It was inexcusable the way he was acting._

_Her tortured screams echoed off the walls ranging in his ears five times the volume from her usual big mouth. She squirmed, and fought. She lied. She was annoyingly brave. She was killing him, but all he could do was watch her death, and die with her. He thought he would puke._

_Draco clutched his wand and fought her friends when they arrived. As his face bled from the broken chandelier he watched them take her, and then it happened: He emptied his stomach over the carpet, his head still filled with her, his ears humming with her pain shooting through him._

_They were tortured that night, a gleam in Voldemort's eye. It was strange... He didn't feel it. She was safe, and most importantly gone. He always knew she would be his pain, the spot in his chest where his heart would be._

_There was Draco Malfoy. Then there was her._

That was the last time they had seen each other. It was a moment in Draco's life that he relived every day and every night, driving him to near insanity.

It was a grim moment of thousands, but it was the moment that would be in the spotlight, it was something he would ever forget. His dreams would forever put themselves aside for his nightmares, the dreams that were her, the nightmares that were her. There was not escaping... Her. The Gryffindor brain, the smart one, the beautiful one.

Slytherin and Gryffindor didn't belong. _They_ didn't belong. It was fire and ice, and they didn't co-exist. The snake and the lion would fight to death, the snake would bite, the lion claw. One could be poisonous, the other could be stronger. He would poison Granger before he could live with her. She would be the death of him by ripping his heart out. But he was there already, on the edge of death. And where was she since that fateful night? Was she running like the others? Was she with Potter and the Weasley's? Was she safe?

Why did he ask himself senseless questions he couldn't answer? Why was he holding onto every straw that kept him towards a bleak, and unsure future? Oh, that was right... She was who he was living for. One more moment - a happy moment - that could erase that one. To see her smile and laugh once more, and maybe, just maybe, they could live together in harmony. Maybe love. A Slytherin and Gryffindor, a Pureblood and Muggleborn, a Malfoy and Granger, a snake and a lion.

There was Draco Malfoy... Then there was her... His lioness. Hermione Granger.

***

"Hermione! Hermione!"

Groggily she woke. The red luminous clock beside her read one o'clock. It was because of that time that she threw off her covers, and leapt out of bed. Harry yelling that early in the morning, or for that fact at all could only mean one thing.

Clad in her flowered nightgown she ran to the door just as it opened. Harry held onto the frame out of breath.

"They're here," he said grabbing her hand.

They joined the throng of people that were also running to the basement. In an unclouded part of her brain she registered all of them, every single one of the red-haired Weasley's, the skinny Lupin's, and crying baby Teddy Lupin in beautiful Fleur Weasley's arms. Ginny came beside her taking her other hand. She felt Ron's on her shoulder.

In the far corner of the musty basement they gathered. Harry took one glance at her and shrugged off his jacket. He wrapped it tight around her. "Keep warm," was all he said.

"Ron," she complained as he dragged her to the far back corner where Fleur was trying to hush Teddy.

"Stay here, Hermione."

She felt a sting of irritation at his protectiveness. "I can fight for myself!"

"I know that, but..."

"Stop trying to protect me!"

"You're the only Muggle-born here! After Harry they'll kill you!"

Ice flooded her. Did he think they would all die?

"He's right," Ginny said looking her straight on for a full three seconds before she turned to the door.

She accepted that she was fighting a losing battle and as they took ranks she stayed in the back like he told. Harry needlessly ordered him to stay in front of her. She wanted to argue, but there was too much commotion. Harry with Fred, George, Bill, Charlie, and Arthur took the front line, the women came next, Ginny staying very close to Harry though it looked like he was biting his tongue very hard to keep her in the back too. Hermione would have been alone if it weren't for Fleur and Teddy.

It became deathly quiet. Then there was a bang of the front door being slammed open, the windows shattering, men yelling, boots pounding the floor above them shaking the dirt loose from the rafters. They all held their breath as they waited.

She took a good look at her family. All set, and ready with their wands out like herself. She knew that the day would come. Ever since the uproar at the supposed last battle of Hogwarts, she knew that she would be standing there with them fighting. She prayed that there weren't many Death Eaters. She prayed that they would all survive.

The door burst opened and lights flashed in her eyes. Green, red, blue, gold, purple. Wizards and Witches slashing their wands through the air in intricate movements, fighting with everything they had.

Hermione tried desperately to get past Ron, but with one arm on her shoulder he managed to keep her back. She yelled into his ear, but he didn't hear her. She didn't know where he got the exerted strength, but it was the worst time to use it.

Teddy was wailing louder than ever, and Hermione felt like joining him as she watched her nightmare come true.

Arthur was the first to be killed, his glasses lopsided on his kind face, his wand taken from him, broken in a soundless snap by a faceless Death Eater.

Her eyes and mouth opened in horror at what the Wizards and Witches in the bone masks did next. It wasn't enough to simply kill them. Slashes was made into his body. Hermione thought she'd be sick at the skull designs they were causing into his flesh digging past the bone while their comrades took care of the rest of them. Her side was all falling down, one by one. Two by two. She was sick to her stomach, her wand nearly breaking in her grasp.

Fred, Bill, Charlie, George, Molly, Lupin, and Tonks. Blood splattered them, speckles on their snow white faces. She yelled at Ron to get out of her way, but he didn't answer, he only kept her in the corner, behind him as he fought ruthlessly.

More than anything she wanted to look away, but she didn't. Helplessly she watched as her family was brutally murdered, the images burning themselves into her eyes. She continued to try to get past Ron more frantic with each murder, running her nails down his arm raising the skin, but not causing enough pain than what they were already being induced to. She was able, with careful aim take two Death Eater's down, but it was too dangerous to do more from her position. It would be too easy to hit one of her family.

She couldn't locate her emotions running rampant inside of her. Shock didn't cover it. Neither did fear. She felt sickened, horrified, the emotional scarring setting in. She couldn't find her logic. She felt cold. Very, very cold, and alone. She simply watched, and in vain tried to get past her best friend.

Harry and Ginny were keeping up a good fight, but as Fleur saw her husband on the floor she ran forth. And if Hermione wished she hadn't seen one thing, it was the murder of baby Teddy Lupin. But she did see it, and that memory would haunt her, even in her death.

Ron shoved Hermione against the wall, his face frantic, and dotted red. He leaned into her covering her protectively. "Listen, love, listen to me closely."

She tasted salt and copper. She barely recognized that she was crying. That she was actually bawling, the tears mixing with blood. She nodded focusing every fiber of her being on what her best friend was saying, ignoring what was replaying in her mind. She had to focus, for Ron.

"You don't have a name. You have no history. You're unnamed."

She didn't understand what he was telling her. She went to ask but past his arm she saw Ginny go down. She gave a strangled cry and tried to go to her. Ron held her back his face averted from the cutting of his baby sister, the blood that was pooled blending with the others.

"NO!"

Harry was momentarily distracted. His visage a mix of horror, anger, and breaking sadness as he ran to stop his girlfriend's attack. And then in a flash of green, he fell too, right beside her, their hands coming together as though they were holding one another.

"HARRY!" She heard her voice, but it was far away, and a second later she wondered if she had yelled at all.

Ron was shaking. In a split second he turned to her. He raised his wand.

"Ron, no, don't!"

That was the last thing she saw. Ron's heartbreaking face. His last expression before he went to join his family.

* * *

A/N: I know the warning wasn't clear, it gave nothing away of the story which was its point, but it was a warning nonetheless.

The first recollection of Draco's was something I had written months back until it could find its place, ultimately finding it here.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Unnamed

Draco smoothed the paper over his desk. He was glad for his parents teaching him French when he was younger as everything he read lately was in that language, for he no longer lived in England, but a remote location in France. Alone.

That was indeed Voldemort's punishment. For their incompetence for letting the Golden Trio go Draco was repaid by the death of his parents.

However he was tough. Dragon's hide had nothing compared to him. Most people would be severely scarred by their parents passing. He was prepared. He grieved, he went through his six stages. He grew up knowing that certain possibility. At one point when he was four his father faked his death. Draco remembered crying for hours until his eyes were sore and raw. When the "lesson" was over, his father said, "now son you know what it feels like. Next time, it'll be easier."

Draco was smart and perhaps a bit conceited about it. He knew that his turn was next. The next mistake, the next time Voldemort lost his temper he would die like his parents. There was only one way out. He ran. He was good at getting out of trouble, he made it a past-time when he was a boy. But now he was an adult, and was under the reign of the most evil of Wizards. Running was his only option.

He read each line of the Wizarding newspaper again and again. He could hardly believed what he read. The tiny flame of hope that he kept alive for so long was extinguished only to leave a burning ember in its place, the only ray in his life.

There was a massacre at the Prewett home where Muriel Prewett had apparently died of old age. It was in her house that the Weasley's and the Lupin's were gathered. Officials which were no longer known as Auror's but Death Eaters say that it was a close win. Seventeen out of twenty Death Eaters died. Only one of the blood traitors lived. They first thought it was Ginny Weasley, but the Weasley girl was naturally beside Potter. No, this girl was an unknown but she had to be a Weasley with the vivid red hair.

Somehow, somewhere inside of him he knew the truth. It wasn't a Weasley, it was a Granger. She was the only one of the trio that was not mentioned, and she wouldn't dare leave their sides. The truth had to be that someone attempted to hide her identity, keeping her safe after their death. It had to be the Weasley boy. Ron. Because only someone with his lack of brains would do something like that.

Death was preferable to those who lived. When blood-traitors, or Mudblood's (all the same) lived they were sold like animals. Rarely did they live, but it was a more horrible death than the one they would have had in the beginning.

If Ron had any brains, he would've killed Granger himself.

On the other hand... Could Draco have done it? He couldn't even manage to kill the Headmaster, or give up the trio's name in his lounge two years ago. He didn't have the guts. But if he tried to kill Granger... It had nothing to do with guts. He didn't have the heart as odd as that sounded for him. It was out of place in his character, but it was true.

That's what made his decision. He would clean up the mess that Weasley left. He would save Granger.

Anyhow, he was alone.

***

The screams were background noise. The cold was numbing. The hard concrete floor of the cell she was in could have been a comfy bed for as well as she was concerned. She was dead inside. She was no one. She was unnamed.

Her curly red hair was a curtain over her face. Red... The exact color of Ron's. It even smelled like his, light and airy. Her jacket - Harry's jacket was wrapped tightly around her pressed under her nose to smell the wood polish of it, the scent of him.

She didn't dare close her eyes. She stared at the iron bars guarded by magic and marching Death Eaters in bone white masks. If she closed her eyes she would see the green light, their deaths, all the bodies. Ron's tortured face. She would scream with the others, she would bawl. And she would have the Cruciatus curse used on her like the others.

She was there for two days refusing to eat the stale bread and muddy water they gave. Her stomach pains were diminished by the next day. She didn't feel anything but the aching where her heart would've been. She was shaking, upset, and angry. She was everything that she never been before. Not truly. Not so furiously.

Unnamed... That's what Ron told her. She was Unnamed. No one. Nothing.

The girls on either cell of hers were bought. Bought like animals, but they weren't slaves... No, slaves did work. They were tortured and slaughtered, used for the Death Eater initiation. Sometimes wolf-whistling men would buy the women, and for that she didn't even want to think about. She wished for once in her life that she couldn't think.

"You! Stand!"

Hermione obeyed robotically and went to the entryway. She couldn't see the guard speaking to her, it was too dark to make anything out, the cells dimmed by magic. It was like putting a bag over an alligators head. They couldn't see so they calmed. Like animals they were...

"This one," said a familiar deep voice that she didn't have the energy or purpose to place.

"Sir, you don't want this one. A mute, she is."

"Tell me her history."

"Excuse me?"

"Are you deaf?"

The guard coughed gruffly. "No, sir, no. Her history, yes. She's the one found at the Weasley's, you heard about that, did you? Harry Potter was there. They all died, except for her. We suspect that one of them cursed her because her wand showed no signs of attacking back."

"Her name?"

"Doesn't have one, sir. We think she's a Weasley. That red hair... But she's a Mudblood for sure. Doesn't make sense..."

"I want her."

"Sir -"

"Do you have a problem understanding orders?"

"I'm here to help you, sir, pick out the best one."

"I've made my choice."

"Well - uh - okay then. I suppose that's fine, sir."

"How much is she?"

"Twenty galleons."

"That's all?"

"A mute, like I said."

There was the sound of metal coins clicking together, and the sound of the door opening with a loud screech.

A cold hand grasped her forearm pulling her roughly out. She stumbled behind him.

They walked through the dark hallways, shadows of hands reaching through the bars wishing to be taken – to die. They went up multiple staircases until they reached a door that brought them outside to the sunny atmosphere. It was funny how she thought that the sky would be black. Didn't the sun die the day hers did?

"Shhh, we'll be inside soon."

She didn't realize that she had been crying, tears streaming their usual tracks down her cheeks. The sun was painful to her eyes. Even with light, she couldn't see.

_How appropriate_, she thought.

***

Hermione was too thin for Draco's tastes. He had to get a little food in her as soon as possible. She also needed a bath, he could practically smell the salt, dirt, blood, and sweat from her.

He led her halfway down the street when her fumbling footsteps made him scoop her in his arms. He carried her down the street to the nearest fireplace in a dark arts store. No one glanced his way, no one asked questions. It was normal to see death. Nearly everyone in the Wizarding world could see thestrals.

Draco wasn't stupid though, he kept his black cloak around him, his hood over his head, moving with quickness and stealth. He knew that he was a wanted man for betraying the late Voldemort. It wasn't as if Potter's heroic act kept their world safe. On the contrary it was worse, all of Voldemorts followers - Death Eaters - stood to rally against them. They were a lot more angry than anyone anticipated, and many went into hiding including Draco.

He held the girl tightly. He could have been bruising her, but she made no sound to make it known that she was uncomfortable. If it weren't for her shallow breaths he would've thought her dead. That thought scared him more than he could've imagined. Hermione Granger could never die. Much less than the fact that he wouldn't allow it, she was too strong to go like the others.

That was the strange thing about Draco Malfoy. He was in love with her. He relied more on Potter than anyone would have shockingly knew. He wanted Potter to win. Draco played his Death Eater part well, and thought that when the time came, it would all be over, a bad dream. It was worse than a bad dream for him when the Death Eaters rose against him. It would never end, it was a black hole leading them into pitch darkness that would eventually eat them alive.

The swirling emerald fire lead them to his own in France entering the small dark lounge. He sat Hermione on the sofa and turned to mutter a couple of spells at the fireplace. He couldn't have his Floo traced, he set himself in enough danger by just leaving the country, one of the few countries still free of Voldemort's old followers.

He faced the small Witch, still shaking miserably in a jacket twice her size. Her red hair disturbed him. He felt a renew anger at Weasley for doing such a despicable thing. He loved her hair the way it was.

"Hermione Granger," he said, but it came out more of a question as though he wasn't sure it was her.

She didn't stir.

"Granger?" He didn't feel it was right to use her given name yet. Hermione was blissfully unaware of his feelings towards her.

This time she looked up, her face gaunted and haunted, her voice raspy and different. "Unnamed."

Had she hit her head? "Excuse me?"

"I don't have a name."

Something hit him in his gut. He knelt in front of her, but didn't touch her. "You're name is Hermione Jean Granger."

"Unnamed," she croaked.

"Don't you remember?"

"No."

He knew that was a lie at once. He was efficient in lying and he could taste one a mile off. "Granger..." He slipped off his hood, pleased by her gasp as she took in his white-blond hair, and pointed features that screamed he was a Pureblood Malfoy. "So you do remember."

Her face went expressionless again. "No."

He nearly growled, but he didn't want to scare her. She had enough torment. He knew that she would be scarred. He knew that he would have to take care of her.

Draco took her hand, and she tried to jerk away, but his hold was constricting, if he held her any tighter he would break her bones. Carefully he lifted her from the sofa.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm showing you the bath. You need to get out of those clothes."

"No!"

He staggered back by the force behind her voice. She had to have used half her energy in yelling that word. "You need to be cleaned, Granger."

She shook her head, and squeaked as he threw her over his shoulder. She pounded his back with her fists, but it was a massage if anything and that frightened him further. He remembered the day she slapped him in their third year. He had to cover up that bruise with charms for two weeks. Her fury then was a mark at how fragile she was. She had to be treated with care. She was glass he decided.

He went to the bathroom and without necessity he closed the door setting her gently on her feet. She still fought, but it was useless.

"Either you undress yourself or I'll do it for you!"

She hit his chest, kicked his shin, she stumbled and nearly fell before he caught her. "No! No!"

He felt like a pounce. He didn't want to force her, but she needed to be taken care of, and if it needed to be by force he would do it. He grabbed her jacket, but she screamed high and piercing. He let it go like a hot iron and moved back.

Hermione clutched the jacket like her life depended on it, her bony hands turning as white as his skin.

It occurred to him then and he hated that he was too late in realizing it. That jacket wasn't hers, it was one of her friends. One of her male friends. "Which one," he asked, more harshly than he intended.

Her sobs choked her as she descended to her knees.

"Who?"

"Harry." She wailed, "Harry!"

Draco felt dizzy. She wasn't fragile glass that he needed to be careful with. No, she was already broken. The girl he loved for so long was dead inside, and it was in no thanks to him.

***

She felt arms lift her off the cold tile floor. Water was running, or was it the roaring in her ears? It didn't matter, she held the jacket more firmly. She whimpered, and coughed. She couldn't let anyone take the jacket. It was the only thing she had left. It was her reality, her home, her brother.

"Let me take it. I'll lay it right here, I'll have it cleaned -"

"No," a voice screamed again. It was her own as nails ripped their way through her throat. She was terrified. If it was taken, it would no longer keep her warm. If it was clean it would lose his smell. She would be lost without it. Harry told her to keep warm...

"Okay, okay, but let me lay it here, you can it right back, I promise."

The promise of a Malfoy. It was sardonic. She shook her head, but the jacket was ripped from her shoulders. She tried to scratch him, but her nails were cut too short. She vaguely remember someone cutting her nails. A Death Eater, because she scratched him too. He cut them so short they bled. Still, she attempted but it did no damage. Nothing could stop him, he was a monster taking away her last shred of humanity. She screamed more until she tasted copper on her tongue. Her throat was bleeding.

Malfoy stripped her of her clothes. She felt a thrill of fear at her nakedness but he didn't seem to see her, his eyes were averted to the floor as if she was a disgusting sight to look at. She should've been offended, but for one thing it was true, she was disgusting, bones of an empty shell. For another she was grateful. She didn't want anyone to see her, especially him.

Scalding hot water burned her, but she didn't make a sound. There was the scent of lavender soap as he scrubbed her with a sponge. The dirt, sweat, and blood that she'd been covered in polluted the bath water. It felt good, like wiping a fogged window to view the outside instead in this case she was being cleaned to view the inside, and she was instantly more humiliated. She wondered what he saw, but then decided it didn't matter. Nothing did.

Only... Why was she being washed? Why didn't he kill her? Beat her? Why was he helping her?

"Why," she asked.

"Why what?" He slid the sponge over her back, lifting her hair to reach her neck.

She shook her head feeling disoriented, the burgundy water swirling around her. "Kill me."

"Never."

It didn't make sense. Was she dreaming? Or was she already dead?

She didn't have time to wonder more for she fell asleep there, her weight supported by the odd Malfoy who continued to gently wash her.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Broken Angel

Draco felt sickened by what he had to do. If there was any certainty that they wouldn't be found he wouldn't do it, it wouldn't even cross his mind. It had to be done though. For both of their safety's, not just Hermione's, because if something happened to her then there was no doubt he would die protecting her.

It would be odd for anyone to hear him say that. After all, no one knew how he wanted the girl, or for how long. He wasn't sure himself. He just knew that she could be the only one for him, and how strongly these unusual feelings came for her scared him. For a Slytherin willing to put another's life before their own wasn't just odd, it didn't come along often.

For Gryffindor's it was different. Bravery was a nice word for idiocy. They would die for anyone, to protect anyone.

No matter his feelings for the stupidity of Gryffindors he would be forever grateful towards Weasley. It was true that he was foolish to let Hermione live. He would have to know what would've happened to her, but Draco knew the man kept some hope alive that she would be okay, that she was strong enough. The gratefulness came in only because they were all lucky that he was the one who found Hermione. He would be the one to save her. They were lucky that the Slytherin personality default of putting themselves first failed with her. She would always be first, and that's why he had to do what disgusted him deeply.

He was going to cause her pain. He was going to hurt her. His stomach was already twisting at the thought of it. If he could have done anything else... Anything at all to keep her just as safe. What if the wards on the house didn't hold up? What if they were attacked? What if he was killed before he could defend her? She didn't have a wand, that was snapped before she was taken to the cells. She would die.

Dangling on the end of the fire poker was a gold ring with the Malfoy crest. He buried it into the heart of the flames where white could be seen blending with the blue. He counted to thirty in his head and took it out and with his gloved hands he slid it on and picked up the bowl of ice.

It was one in the morning and she had long since been asleep. He put her straight to bed after her bath. He kept his promise and didn't wash the vile jacket. He folded it neatly and set it on the pillow beside her.

He moved silently down the hall to the left of the lounge. He didn't want a struggle, it was better if she wasn't expecting it. Better for him if not for her.

He crept in her room barely lifting his feet for any noise. The house was small compared to his mansion that he grew up in, but it wasn't cheap. Even in hiding a Malfoy would have the best. That meant there was little chance his floorboards would creak. He didn't want to take chances.

Normally he would sit and observe her as he would every night from then on contemplating the drastic and scary change in her features. She was too pale - as pale as him, too thin, too sad, but still beautiful. He was asking for punishment, running away from his duties, and falling in love with the enemy. He was dooming himself.

She laid there unsuspecting on her back. A much easier position. He wouldn't have to roll her over. It tug on his chest to think that soon she wouldn't be that calm that she would be fighting him.

He did it quickly before he changed his mind. He sat the bowl on the nightstand and straddled her hips placing a firm hand over her mouth muffling her startled screams. Her brown eyes were round with terror. He avoided them pulling on the neck of her night gown something that he _did_ wash and dressed her in. He curled his hand into a fist and pressed the white hot ring into her bare shoulder. His palm vibrated with her screams, and her squirming became worse trying to buck him off, but she was too weak to do so, he barely had to put forth any pressure.

Without letting go he laid on top of her, his lips to her ear, breathless. "I'm sorry. I'm so damn sorry. I'm sorry, I'm sorry." He apologized over and over again, but it would never be sufficient. He was hurting her. He was stomping on the broken glass with a boot. "No one can touch you with this crest. You'll be completely safe now, I swear."

Her tears spilled over the brim of her lids and reached his hand streaming down his water-proof glove. He jumped off as though it was him that had been burned.

Draco watched as she curled herself into a ball, the aching grew and nearly swallowed him whole, but she would thank him. He was helping her.

"What else will you take from me, Malfoy?"

He bristled. The word "ungrateful" came to mind. No matter what happened he was still Draco. He was still egotistical and proud, still a jerk. "I'm trying to save you, you foolish girl! You'd be lying dead somewhere if it weren't for me!" He snatched a piece of ice and pushed her onto her back. Gently as he could in his anger he ran the ice over the burn soothing it. "I can only apologize so much," he told her, "for things I'm not sorry about."

"Why are you doing this?" She continued to cry.

"For once in your life you wouldn't want the answer."

"Yes, I do."

"Trust me, you don't."

The tears she shed pained him, her body twitched with them as he tried to keep the ice steady sliding it over her scarred flesh. Perhaps she did need the truth. She needed something to keep her from cracking, but would his honest answer do any good?

"I'm doing this because..." He could lie. He was a great liar. He had to be... But that thought vanished as he gazed into her eyes. Of all the things that changed about her, her eyes remained the same. They were the same shade of chocolate brown, warm and deep. They were a phantom of what they used to be, but they were hers, and he lost all sensibility when he looked into them, a reason he avoided her as much as he could during their school days. "I love you. I'm in love with you."

Her body ceased from its tears, and she gazed up at him in wonder and fear. He hated the latter emotion, it made him sick to his core. He didn't want her to fear him. Not her.

***

Malfoy was in love with her. He was... In love with her. No matter how many times she repeated it in her head she couldn't make sense of it. They didn't belong together. They were too different, on opposite sides of the war. The war that was over... They failed, they lost. Because of his side.

He didn't kill them, he wasn't there, of that she was positive. She had no proof, but deep in her gut, the same feeling that Harry followed all of his life was certain of it. But he was just as bad as them. He wasn't standing with them, fighting, watching his loved ones die. He didn't see their life blown out like a candle. He didn't know anything. He saw nothing.

She bit her lip until blood spotted the surface staining her teeth.

He touched her chin pulling down her lip. "Don't," he whispered. "Don't cause yourself anymore pain."

Pain. It was silly to think that any physically pain could be more than the emotional. The sensitive skin of her shoulder where he branded her like an animal was nothing, not even a phantom of how much she was in emotional pain. She was broken, and dead. "I'm dead," she declared softly but loud enough for him to hear.

"Granger -"

"Unnamed," she insisted.

"Why? You remember, I know you do."

She shook her head furiously, her brain sloshing around in her skull. She banished the too-clear memories of Ron and Harry. Of her family dead on the ground. The slashes in their flesh. Blood... Everywhere. She banished it all. "No."

"Denial," he assessed.

"Truth."

"Stubborn as ever," he spat irritably. "I know it's you."

"Unnamed. I'm unnamed."

He sighed, his voice softer this time. "I know who you are."

Silently she rebuked it. No one knew her. She wasn't this Hermione. She didn't have a name, she didn't have a family, she had nothing, no one. She was dead, not even a person. This body that she was in was more temporary than she thought. But if anyone knew her, that person wasn't alive for everyone she cared about was gone.

Malfoy leaned back from her. "I will fix you," he promised.

Hot saltness trailed their paths. She held her chest keeping herself together. Something was missing. Her jacket. She looked frantically around, but Malfoy who knew what she wanted held it out for her.

She snatched it out of his hands shoving her arms through it, zipping it up her gown. She curled into her ball once more huddling inside of it. She inhaled the sweet wood polish. She imagined it was Harry there with her, keeping her warm and safe.

Malfoy did keep his word. He didn't wash the jacket. She turned to say one more thing to him, but he wasn't there in the small, but lavish room to say thank you to.

* * *

A/N: This is set in December so there will be mentionings of Christmas later. I want to make it clear however that it is not a Christmas story. It's too tragic to be that in my opinion. In fact I should have waited to post this story later (after the holidays).

I wish I did have a Christmas story that I could post up, but things have been very hectic so I didn't have time. Hopefully next year.

I am very grateful of the reviews and the people I have seen read my stories, have favorited them and me. Thank you so much. To all of my readers on here I'd like to wish a Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays! (I really wish I could have put this author's note on a happier story).


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Be Careful With The Glass

Her breaths were rhythmic, comforting. Draco found that he loved watching her sleep. She talked - mumbled, too incoherently for him to understand, but her lips would move, her bare legs tangled around the sheets.

He felt like a pervert when she moved that way. Hell, he felt like a pervert every night for the past two weeks just watching her in the darkest corner of the room, but he couldn't take his eyes off of her, if he did, she might disappear like the angel she was.

It was not as though he believed Hermione would be angry with him for being in there. He kept a near constant watch on her during the day as well, though she never spoke to him. She ate a little more each day and she bathed herself (Draco wasn't frightened of her being in there since he disabled the lock on the door), but for the rest of the time she curled up in her bed. He knew of nothing to do but let her go through her motions.

Eyes fluttered under her violet lids. He didn't want to know what those beautiful brown eyes saw. It would be nothing to him to see her friends killed. He'd seen people die before, he was a Death Eater after all, he killed himself, but to even know that it caused her a fraction of the pain he had been through his whole life... That would be too much.

She muttered some more, and he lifted himself off the floor to bend by her bed. In the gentlest touch as if he was attempting to caress a soap bubble he touched her hair, her cheek, her shoulder... Her poor shoulder, scarred by him. The Malfoy crest was fading pink retaining its anger. He pulled her sleeve up covering it.

"Beautiful," he contested quietly scanning over her. "My love. Mine." Words weren't enough to say how he wanted to say that with conviction. He wanted it more than air. He would give anything for it to be true, but how selfish could one be? He'd given up his freedom and life for her to be there. He would never tell her such things, but it was true, and more-so he didn't regret it.

Red waves were splayed out over her head like a disjointed halo. She was sickly pale with dark lines under her eyes. He traced them hoping for them to dissolve. They didn't of course.

Lightly keeping in mind that she was bubble, he ran his lips over her cheek, her jugular, and her collar bone. He stopped there feeling as though he was crossing a line by just being in her room. He shouldn't be touching her, but he had to get a taste of her skin, the feel of it under him, but he stopped.

His broken angel... She'd seen too much for anyone's lifetime. He vowed then and there that she wouldn't suffer more. He would protect her, she wouldn't have to feel anymore pain. No more deaths, no more slaughterings... No more. Love, light, safety is what she deserved, and that's what she'd get if it was the last thing he did.

"I'll fix you..." He told her that once, but he felt the need to say it again out-loud for he really meant it.

***

_Green flashed. Again and again sending knives into Hermione's heart. She tried to run to her falling friends, but something held her back. She was pressed into the darkness watching from a distance, not in her own body._

_"HARRY!"_

_Ron was shaking. In a split second he turned to her. He raised his wand._

_"Ron, no, don't!"_

She woke up screaming. Blood splattered in her mouth, and a little on the sheet covering her lap. She wiped her chin with a trembling hand.

She looked around her. For one precious and short moment she thought she was at the Weasley home. There was nothing to suggest this, everything was too expensive looking, there was not so much as nicks into the dark red woods of the dresser and bedposts, but she was on a bed, inside of a home. In that short moment it came back to her. She thought she would crumble into dust, but she held together and that was a pain of its own. She should have known better. It had been two weeks. She was bound to get used to the scenery sometime, right?

To her left was a note, elegant words wrote in black.

_Granger,_

_Breakfast is waiting for you in the kitchen._

_Malfoy_

She flung the note aside slipping out from under the covers to dress in her jeans and shirt that was laid out for her at the end of the bed.

She padded angrily out to the hallway. She should have felt grateful that Malfoy "saved" her from her cell, but... She wasn't. She didn't feel that at all. She felt upset and hopeless. She should have died with the rest of them. It was more than survivor's guilt, because the word "survivor" did not fit her. She survived death, but what she lived through was killing her anyhow.

The hallway was... Empty. Void of pictures of a happy family. The she remembered reading in the Daily Prophet (or what was the Daily Prophet before Voldemort's followers took it over) that Malfoy's parents had been murdered. They were one of the first Death Eaters to go. Their son had gone missing, everyone assumed him dead, some were intent on finding him.

Connected to the right of the fairly empty lounge was the kitchen. It was small, simple, and sparkling clean. It looked like it was never used, and she knew better than that for Malfoy did cook, he was fantastic, and though she would rather starve herself she couldn't help but eat, everything was delicious.

At the round table was a plate of three slices of toast, and a tall glass of milk. She ate as slowly as she could manage without scarfing down every crumb. With each bite she counted to seven for the seven seconds it took food to reach to her stomach. Ironically she didn't want to get sick. Throwing up wouldn't kill her unfortunately.

She took her last bite, the blue swirls showing on the plate making it appear as though it had never been used. She contemplated filling it again with more toast, but halfway out of her chair she changed her mind. Gorging herself wasn't good, not in the physical shape she was in. As long as her ribs were stretching the flesh of her chest she would gradually eat more. Like it would really matter how she took care of herself it was almost laughable.

She downed the last drop of her milk as Malfoy came in pausing on his way through the entrance. She could spot him out of the corner of her eye smiling the tiniest bit. She nearly lost her small meal at that.

She couldn't find the will to forgive him for saving her while she was waiting patiently for death. She was ready to go - more than ready - she was wanting to go, and he took that away from her.

"I bought you some more clothes, hope they fit. I had to guess."

She nodded tracing the rim of her cup with the tip of her finger. "Thank you." It was meant to be sincere, but it came out sounding ungrateful and not because of the roughness of her unused voice but because it was the exact way she felt. She did like the clothes, plain jeans and t-shirts, they were comfortable, but what did corpses need with new clothes?

Malfoy didn't seem to hear her properly, or he didn't care. Surely there was a ploy for why he was going out of his way for her. There had to be insults about her blood, but there was none, and that irritated her. She wanted an excuse to fight, to hate him more than she already did.

She kissed that hope goodbye when he sat beside her. She stiffened at the closeness of them, the heat of his arm close to hers.

"You're welcome."

It was too much, she was burning, and like a cat in scalding water she jerked away from him, out of her chair. She swayed a little on the spot grasping the edge of the table to keep her upright.

He had the audacity to act like he didn't know why she did that. "Is anything wrong?"

She ground her teeth. "Of course there is! How - how - how dare you!"

He truly looked confused then. "I don't understand..."

"How could you save me! How could you do this to me?!"

"I beg your pardon," he asked angrily his silver eyes becoming slits.

She let out a growl, something she didn't know was possible from a human being. She wanted to explode, to destroy his kitchen, scream, and kill....

Kill... Tears burned like acid. If she couldn't bear to do one thing she would do another, and with that concept she snatched the plate and threw it to the wall, shattering the room with splinters of glass.

Malfoy didn't even blink much less flinch and that infuriated her further. She was seeing red, everything was coated in it and she grabbed the glass and that ruptured across the floor too. This didn't faze him either, and she began to spin looking for something else to throw that would break, because she was breaking.

Suddenly her forearms were grabbed, and she was turned roughly to face the man that was holding her, and instead of being scared by the intensity of his stare she only wished that he would murder her. He was a murderer after all, what was one more body? Especially her body?

"Kill me," she hissed, but she quit bearing her teeth at him by the look on his face. It was sad, remorseful, and angry. Angry... She loved that. "Murder me, Malfoy,' she goaded.

He bent his face to hers, breathing out in puffs as if he was close to losing his sanity. Then he pushed her, and she hit the counter saving herself from a fall that would certainly break her fragile bones.

Malfoy shoved his sleeve up revealing the Dark Mark, a black tattoo with a snake slithering through an agape mouth of a skull. "Do you see this, Granger? It means that I've killed. I am a murderer. Don't ask me to do what we know I'm capable of."

There was a rumbling in her chest, another growl escaping her. "That's why I asked you, you despicable excuse for a Wizard! I know you can! Now do it! Kill me!"

Slowly, inch by inch he shook his head. He turned to walk away. That was it? He was giving up so easily?

"Do you want to torture me? Is that why you won't do it? Is it because I'm a dirty Mudblood? Tell me why." He paused but didn't answer. "TELL ME WHY!"

"I told you..."

She remembered. His reason was that he loved her, but that couldn't be true. He was Malfoy. "Tell me the _truth._"

He glimpsed over his shoulder at her, and she was staggered to see wet streaks over his cheeks. "That is the truth. No one is going to hurt you. Not even yourself. Not that you would."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You wouldn't take the easy way out."

Easy way out... Suicide... That would be easy. A reprieve. She could see her family again. She could hold them, and forget about their miserable lives. She was the last survivor, but there was a choice, she didn't have to be one at all. Only... It wasn't easy. Would she have such guts to do it? _No,_ she decided quickly. She may have been a Gryffindor, but she wasn't that brave.

"Be careful with the glass," he warned before leaving her alone.

Alone. She would always be alone. She fell to the floor, and like the glass broke apart, crying turning into sobs, sobs becoming wailing, wailing into screaming. She ran a hand through her hair, tangling her fingers in it, pulling it by the roots, her other hand clutching the zipping of Harry's jacket.

_Let me die. Give me an easy way out. Kill me. Slaughter me. Hurt me. Don't let me suffer anymore, I beg of you. I'll do anything..._

***

Draco listened to Hermione's screams in the lounge, right outside of the door. It was not as though he had to stand right there to hear her. He could be anywhere in the house, he could be outside, or on the other side of the continent. It was a good thing he put up silencing spells. Even in the remote location they were in, on a beach that no Muggle had discovered he was extremely careful. Her screams could very well reach the nearest village.

However, being heard wasn't what he was concerned about, spells or not. It was painful to hear her. It stabbed him in every cell of his body. He wanted nothing more than to march back in there and hold her. Hold her and never let her go. He couldn't. He had to give her space. She needed to heal, but was that possible?

What if it was him that witnessed his families deaths? He didn't see his parents die, he came home from an errand by the Voldemort to see a green replica of his tattoo in the sky above. He saw their bodies when he walked in, lying next to each other in a sprawled out position. They weren't massacred, not like Hermione's family, so he couldn't begin to understand - to comprehend. He barely lived through that experience, but she had always been stronger than him. She always did the right thing. His broken angel.

He entertained the idea that he could save her, and in return save himself. They could heal together. But when they healed, where would they be? Happy? Their world was in ruin. He should be serving Voldemort, and she should be dead.

They weren't in one of those stupid Muggle sitcoms on the box with moving pictures, where no matter what happened, in the end, they would be okay. They would live happily ever after. They could have children, have careers.

Was he so far past broken that he couldn't see the truth? None of that was possible for them. He could live the rest of his life just in her presence, but when she was depressed... How long did they have until it was too much. The depression in them both would kill them. Where Voldemort failed, sadness would rule.

She still cried... It tore at him, his love with its fangs ripped him to shreds.

_Let her live. Give her, her life back. Save her. Heal her. Don't let her suffer anymore, I beg of you. I'll do anything..._


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Lioness

Was there a way to emotionally drown, or for memories to rip you apart? Could one die of sadness? She wondered such things at night when she was desperately fighting to stay awake. Her eyelids were heavy, her brain sluggish. She would have given anything to allow herself to fall to sleep, but she wouldn't trade the dreams for nightmares, because there were no dreams, not anymore. That's why she was sitting in the dark on the bed hugging her knees to her chest. If she closed her eyes for too long then she would see the reason why she was avoiding it.

She twirled a red strand of her hair around her finger. It was the exact shade of Ron's. She wished it was his hair, but every time she brought it under her nose there was a great sense of dissatisfaction. It didn't smell like his, it smelled like Malfoy's. The sight and odor - no matter how sweet they were they just didn't belong.

Much like herself, and the shattered world she lived in. She was detached, a ghost, a shell. She thought that so often of herself that she expected it to be true, to raise her hand in front of her face and be able to see through it.

She raised herself from the bed going to the bathroom. She shut the door and locked it like it would do any good against Malfoy's wand. She leaned onto the sink and stared at her reflection in the cabinet mirror.

Haunted... Disturbed... She looked sick in the respect that her cheeks were sunken in, her skin an off color from what it used to be (creamy white). More importantly - to her at least - she looked like a Weasley. She touched her hair combing it through her fingers. Vivid red, fiery. The last thing Ron gave her. His touch of what she was to him. Part of the family. It wasn't to fool anyone else, a mark of their family - a Pureblood family. It wasn't that, because everyone knew that they were blood-traitors. It was because he loved her.

She pulled her neckline down to see the Malfoy crest burned into her shoulder. She was owned in a way she hated, and she hated him for it. It sickened her to see, but for some reason she couldn't take her eyes off of it.

In the reflection she saw the blood that was spilled that night. The way it covered the walls and floor. Pools of it. A way to drown her the way her feelings couldn't possibly. The bone masks, the laughter from them. It was coming back to her, the things she hadn't heard before, the things she hadn't seen. Everything she blocked out. Ron's tears, his sobbing.

Then she was shaking on the floor, her hand cut up and mangled, splinters of glass sticking out glittering from the overhead light, but they were blurred as was the crimson streaks down her arm.

She would never forgive herself for the actions she should've done. She should've fought. She should've knocked Ron out, and protected him. Why hadn't that occurred to her? Why didn't she die?

Maybe, just maybe, if she stayed there with her broken and destroyed hand she would bleed to death. She curled up on the floor, lying her head on the cool tiles, soothing her. She couldn't help but lie her hand against it too. It was as close to ice as she was going to get, because she wasn't going to leave that room until either the bleeding stopped, or her heart did. Whichever came first.

***

Draco snuck out of the house to the garden. In a rustic iron fence he grew vegetables in plentiful. There were plots and trees. He cared for them, using a bit of magic to help them along, grow them bigger, healthier. When he could he traveled by foot to the nearest village for meat and other things like bread, butter, and drinks, but he liked to grow things. Ironic to give life given he was who he was - a murderer as Hermione graciously pointed out.

He liked working his hands, let the sun burn the back of his neck. It began as convenience, a way not to show himself to the world in case Death Eaters were afoot, but it turned into something he very much enjoyed doing.

With a wicker basket he dumped the fresh food inside and trekked back inside the house. He listened closely for the sounds of Hermione's cries, but there were none. She was fast asleep. It was about time too. He heard her earlier that night as he tucked himself into his own bed. It took every bit of will not to go to her. He almost went to her room, but in the hallway he turned the other direction moving himself outside to his garden.

Now he sat his basket filled with corn and apples on the kitchen table (a bit of magic helped in the winter). Out of habit he wiped his hands on his worn jeans leaving behind smeared hand prints. Concentrating on getting off as much dirt as possible he went to the bathroom where he literally collided with the door.

Draco cried out holding his bruised nose. He double checked his fingers to make certain that he wasn't bleeding, and then he glared at the door. Hermione must have been in there, though he was surprised that anything, even a full bladder could wake her of her slumber.

"Granger," he called. "The sink in the kitchen is full of dishes, I need to wash up in here. Granger? Granger?" He rapped his knuckles against the wood, but he didn't receive an answer.

A dreaded feeling crept inside of him, and he drew his wand. He tapped it on the knob and pushed it open.

His breath caught in his windpipe and stayed there as he surveyed her on the floor, curled up, paler than any ghost he'd seen, the blood on her hand, arm, and under her adding color to the bland sight, glass around her.

Glass... He glanced to his mirror, but there was a hole, cracked pieces distorting his frightened features. He could have guessed as much that she punched her reflection. It brought him up short as he realized that he would have rather her hit him like she did in their third year than have her injuring herself by punching something that could in its own way fight back.

Kneeling next to her he touched her cheek. He finally breathed when her eyes fluttered open. "Granger," he scolded, but it didn't sound that way. It sounded relieved. Relieved to see her move. "Granger, what were you thinking?"

She groaned and then yelped as - with the utmost gentleness he had in him - he picked up her mutilated hand. Glints sparkled in her cuts where the glass had embedded itself. He took out his wand hovering it over her, but something hit him then, worse than when he walked in on this scene.

How far would Hermione go? Would she give up? Would he lose her? Worse yet, would he have to let her go? If only he knew how to keep her. Healed or not she was capable of leaving. Draco was resting his heart into the clutches of a lioness. No matter that she resembled more of an abused cub, deep down she had strength and bravery, that couldn't be changed, he wouldn't believe it.

"Tell me why," he asked of her softly similar to how she asked him though for very different reasons.

"Ask your mates," she spat, or at any rate tried to but it came out weak.

It worried him. How long had she been lying there? Then he processed her words. His nerves hit an edge. "They're not my mates," he seethed. "I'm not apart of that life anymore."

Her glazed showed not a hint that she believed him, and her words proved it. "You were taught to hate me. You have hated me. Use that now." With her good hand she grasped the wand that remained pointed at her. "Kill me."

One by one he slowly pried her fingers off. He could tell that she was using every bit of her will and that hurt almost as much as her words. He was in constant pain when he was in her presence, as she piled hers on his shoulders, she delved deeper. He realized that they were drowning together. Smart people would leave, they would look out for themselves like proper Slytherin's. Suddenly, for the first time in his life he didn't feel like one. He wouldn't - couldn't leave her. He would rather wait until the bottom of the abyss, because there had to be an ending, right?

Draco muttered spells to clean and mend her hand. The glinting pieces of the mirror disintegrated, the blood wiped away, and the torn skin fused together. The only evidence left was the glass that surrounded them.

Tears welled, gathering in the corner of her eyes until they spilled over rushing in rivers. "I asked you to kill me..."

He placed his hands on her cheeks holding her there. He was still for a moment relishing the softness of her skin, the curves of her lips. He wished he could stretch the moment out longer, but as the seconds ticked by the more required it became to speak. "For as long as I'm breathing, so will you."

"Kill me," she mouthed.

For eleven seconds he wanted to ask her to do the same. Her pain, his pain, the only thing that counted was the only difference that he couldn't be happy while she was not. He swore the day his aunt tortured her he would keep his distance. She was too intelligent, too beautiful, not to love. It was for his safety, but he also abandoned his "master" for safety. Why not break all the rules?

Ever so slowly he bent down. He measured his breaths, but they were erratic. So was hers. Their noses touched and he stopped, their eyes locked. He couldn't read the emotions beyond the despair, and like the gentleman he was raised to be, he waited for any signs that she wanted him to go. He saw none, and he let his lids fall shut and closed the small space between them.

Her lips were soft, her hair silky, her taste sweet. It was all like how he imagined, but more. He didn't anticipate the electrical charge, and instead of being surprised, he was elated. It was validation. She belonged to him.

He pressed harder, mashing their lips, his fingers trailing up her arms her shoulders. He grabbed the back of her neck feeling his way to her hair winding the strands around his fingers.

Her scent was intoxicating, he breathed as much of it in as he could, but he couldn't get close enough. He clutched her hip sitting her up on her knees against him. He loved the feel of her chest on his, the mint taste of her mouth, and he loved it more when she responded.

It was gradual, the stroke of his cheek, his stomach, but then she tangled her fingers in his hair, and she was breathing hotly into him. Yet it wasn't complete, not when his need grew stronger to the point of causing physical pain.

Draco buried his nose into her hair, he kept his eyes closed pretending it was cinnamon brown instead of flaming red. He didn't focus on that, however, what drew his attention was how warm his throat was getting.

He pulled back and saw that she was crying. No, that was an understatement. She was bawling.

***

The grief whirled inside of her, building against the dam she didn't know existed. It flooded through cracks in salty wetness, and screams. It was endless. Her body wasn't made to contain such hurt. She wasn't that strong.

Malfoy's hands dropped from her, and she wrapped her arms around her midsection curling into herself. She rocked back and forth, she shook her head trying to loosen the memory, the electricity of that kiss. She kissed Malfoy! She liked it!

She was a traitor. She betrayed the ones she loved. They couldn't forgive her for that. She could see their disgusted and disapproving faces, they flashed before her with sickening speed and clarity.

"Stop," she moaned. "Stop it."

"Hermione..."

She snapped her head up. Malfoy reached a hand between them, his expression soft. She recoiled, and looked down as he appeared hurt. She was angry, her newly healed hand in a fist. He had no right, no right to save her, protect her, heal her, kiss her, call her by a name that wasn't hers. He had no right to love her.

"I'm... Sorry."

Her cheeks flamed. She glowered at the swimming man in front of her. "People don't change."

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean."

She gritted her teeth. "What is it that you want? To build me up before tearing me down? To break me? Deliver me to your master, already. You're wasting your time. I'm dead."

Before she could move he touched her chest, his palm over her heart. "You feel alive to me."

"I hate you," she yelled knocking his hand off her.

He nodded. "I know you do."

"I won't ever love a murderer!"

He cringed. "All the same... I love you. I've waited a long time to be with you, to be worthy. That's not possible, but... Let me help you. Give me that chance."

Harry and Ron glared in her head. Ron turned beat red. She saw it. She saw her hand collide with his cheek making a resounding slap, and a bright marking.

He touched his cheek. "At least I'm not made of glass."

She slapped him again.

He grinned.

She shoved him.

He laughed.

She growled.

He rose his brows.

She pushed once more, and he snatched her arms. With her fists she pounded his chest. Every bit of rage, sadness, and hatred she had she beat on him. He stood, holding her, taking it. It infuriated her. She wanted to cause him pain, everything that she felt.

Quickly though she was tired, her arms aching, her chest humming. She fell into him, and he caught her keeping her tightly to him. He rubbed her back, her hair. He cradled and hushed her.

"Shhh... You'll be okay, love. We'll get through this. It's all right to let it out. Whatever makes you feel better." He lifted her legs to circle his waist. She had no energy to fight it, like a broken doll she lolled on his shoulder. "I'm here, my lioness."

His voice faded until she wasn't sure what he was saying was a dream. She let the darkness take her, only she didn't know... Was the darkness representing her dreams, or the man handling her so lovingly?


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

The Deal

Scarlet painted the room. It dripped pooling in miniature lakes and rivers. Footsteps splattered them. Teddy's cries, Ron's instructions, Harry's orders. Fighting... Death... Blood... So much blood... The sun... Blinding light.

She covered her eyes, draping an arm over them. They were hot and wet. It was better than waking up screaming. Her throat was raw, like her cheeks. At least it had a reprieve though her right hand stung to make up for it. She remembered suddenly why, she hit Malfoy.

Harry and Ron's shock mingled with brotherly pride was a memory of their third year in Hogwarts, the last time she had hit him. It was ironic, all those lectures she gave them about violence, and what's more is that it felt good.

This time... It didn't feel so grand. She couldn't place why. After he kissed her she shouldn't have waited. Was that why? Somehow that didn't seem to be the reason. It wasn't because she felt guilty. If she was strong like she used to be she could have caused more damage... That wasn't it either.

Her arm swiped the tears and she hesitantly looked to her right, away from the rays, but what she saw wasn't much better. She should've blinded herself for all the good it did.

Malfoy slumped in a chair, his chin resting on his chest, his cheek a bright pink of her hand print. He slept quietly, soundlessly. He looked... Lovely. Handsome.

She didn't know what possessed such an action, but she propped herself up, and leaned towards him. With a feather touch she brushed his hair aside from his brows, but she found she liked it rumpled.

Like she had been burned she jerked her hand back. He stirred, stretching his legs in front of him, but didn't wake. As if she couldn't believe what she did she stared at her hand. It was trembling.

_No,_she thought furiously. She wouldn't like Malfoy. She wouldn't feel _anything_for him. The situation was bad as it was. She was a traitor, and she wouldn't face her family like that. She would be loyal. She'd wait for however long it took to die. Malfoy couldn't have changed the way he appeared. He would kill her.

For her soon-to-be-murderer she crawled out of bed and covered him with the black comforter. It was decided. She would make a deal, something he couldn't refuse. She was putting her hope into his character, his old beliefs, counting on that to seal her fate. The fate she should've had.

It would be too easy to be true. She knew that before she went to the bathroom to dress, and then to the kitchen. Yet she had to try. There was nothing to lose.

***

Draco stretched, Hermione's room coming to view. The shining window, the bed. The empty bed.

He stood up, noticing the comforter falling to the floor. Curiously he picked it up. She had covered him. He smiled widely at that, his heart flying. It was a step, a huge one. It showed she cared. It was as good as admitting it, and he knew that she still had to be there.

He tossed the comforter on the bed in a heap hurrying out of the room. Halfway through the lounge he heard sizzling bacon, and when he reached the kitchen door he smelled... Breakfast, the smoky smell that could only be given off when cooking a meal.

Hermione, in the jeans and shirt he bought her, covered mostly by Potter's jacket, with her frizzy red mane was bent over the cooker. She moved fast, flipping and shoveling. He spotted pancakes, waffles, toast, eggs, cereal, sausages, and bacon. The table was complete with a black cloth, two green napkins with silverware of spoon, forks, and knives lying on top of them. There were two jugs of milk and orange juice, and a pot of coffee.

He felt his eyes widen until they were nearly popping out of their sockets. He looked out the nearest window reading the sun's position in the sky. It was seven in the morning. How long had she been up?

Possibly sensing his presence she turned around. She didn't smile, or show any sign that she was glad to see him. She didn't speak. She set the pan and spatula aside motioning for him to sit, but he didn't.

Something didn't feel right, but it was an opportunity to show her who he really was, and he be damned (if he wasn't then) if he didn't show her even in the suspicious atmosphere.

He took his wand from his pocket and flit it through the air, the platters on the counter floating over their heads to lay themselves on the table. As he returned his wand, he finally bade her good morning.

"Tuck in," was all she said.

Briefly he worried if she poisoned the food, but that was very brief, and was boarding ridiculous. She wasn't a killer, and with that resolution he pulled out her seat. If she wanted to kill him she would've taken his wand last night and done a clean job of it.

Hermione paused glimpsing at him through her thick lashes. _Beautiful_, he thought.

She sat and he took his place across from her.

Properly she smoothed the napkin in her lap, back straight, elbows off the table. Self-consciously he did the same. Manners had naturally slipped when he left Voldemort's reigns, when he no longer belonged to the social elite. Being alone suited him fine, that is until he read that paper announcing Potter's death, the moment he concluded that he could steal what he wanted. The best choice of his life by far.

"This was nice of you," he commented as he cut into his waffle. "You didn't need to cook so much. There's only us."

"I thought you'd might like to invite some friends," she said casually as though having breakfast together was an every day occurrence.

"I don't have friends, Hermione."

She balanced her fork on the edge of her plate her lips pursing. She gazed intently at him, blazing him, and he froze. "Your fellow Death Eaters."

Draco felt hot. He slammed his knife down. "I'm _not_ a Death Eater."

"You have the Dark Mark, Malfoy. I know that."

Did she really not know? Was the smartest Witch not aware of why they were there alone? Why did he ask himself so many questions silently, and always the ones he couldn't answer? "Do you know where we're at?"

She looked confused at how the conversation turned, her eyebrows knitting. "No."

"It was easy to kill a Muggle stranger," he began, intending fully to let her hear exactly what happened. "It was for me at least. I imagined his ignorance, his wrong-doings, his place among our world. Whether any of it was true was not here nor there, because it was easier for me, better than trying to murder someone I knew, like the headmaster." Her jaw flexed, her eyes narrowing. "I'm not a good person, Hermione, I never claimed to be. I didn't see the horrors of it until Voldemort killed my parents." He watched her reaction carefully, the surprise 'o' of her supple mouth. "I ran."

Hermione's mouth closed, nodding, choosing to say nothing. That was best, he didn't wand sympathies. Then she sighed and said something quite unexpected.

"It's not that you were looking for a... Service, to make them happy."

"No," he said disgusted. "I told you I'm helping you."

She bit her lip organizing her thoughts. He'd seen it a lot when they were younger as she studied. He swore that she caught him looking, but the most he received from her was leading her two best friends away from many close fights with him. He relied on her, keeping him as well as them out of trouble.

"Hermione?"

She twitched at the sound of her name, but she went on acting like she didn't hear. "I'll accept your help."

"What's the catch?" There had to be one. She was the too stubborn to give up that easily.

She captured his eyes. Silver to mocha. "You must let me go to them."

Her request was worse than her right hook. It took his breath. She really did want to die, and she didn't care how brutal it was. As far as he knew, in her eyes, the more savage it was the better. "Out of the question," he uttered.

"I'm not asking you to come. Just let me go. Lower the wards for three seconds." She clutched the edge of the table as if it was the one thing holding her together. "I won't tell them about you, I promise! Malfoy, I beg you! I'll do anything!"

She was falling apart in front of his eyes. It was agonizing to watch. "You'll do anything?"

"Yes!"

That light of hope that flickered over her features was his doom. He knew what he had to do then. It was the only way to save her - them. It was risky, but it wouldn't involve her death. All he needed was time... "Spend Christmas with me."

"Excuse me?"

"You've lost your spirit, not your hearing."

"Christmas... Why?"

He smiled at her inquisitiveness. A step forward to the girl - woman he once knew. "You said you'd do anything. Spend the next month and holiday here."

"Then you'll let me go?"

Should he lie? He made his decision before asking himself. Using his talent he cleared his face of emotion, but managing not to appear detached. "Yes."

Hermione sighed, a silent confession of relief. "Thank you."

"You're welcome, lioness."

* * *

A/N: Draco's plan will be revealed.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Survivor

Even in a Muggle community Draco wore his cloak. He received many looks from the Muggle passerby's, but he ignored them, his hunched shoulders giving off an aura that demanded to be respected, and no one looked at him for long, a woman pushing her daughter past him quickly.

He paid none of them mind. He didn't look to the shops or the Muggles. He wore his hood for one reason, at the very least he needed to cover his white-blond hair. It was a Malfoy trademark and if on the slim chance an old comrade was searching for him it was a giveaway. Of course there was one...

"Dragon?"

He nodded to the invisible man in the shadows of the alley. "Rabbit."

Theodore Nott came forth, and though his hood was up as well Draco could feel that the man was glowering. "I hate that name. It doesn't fit."

Because he needed his help Draco didn't argue. Theo was the single man/Death Eater/friend that he respected and trusted. He would have never put him in the risk of his company if Hermione's life didn't rely on it, but the fact remained, Theo did have a rabbit-like appearance including the large teeth and black beady eyes.

"What is it you need?"

"I'm sorry for putting you in this position, but I need a favor. I can't tell you the details -"

"No, no details, mate."

"I need a memory-loss potion."

Theo was silent for a while before he croaked, "That's not a good idea. I see why, mind you, but there's loads of Wizards looking for you."

He shook his head. He didn't want to, but he had to lie. "It's not for me..."

Holding up his hands he backed away. "All right, I don't want to know. That's going to be a bit tricky, but..."

"Can you get it before Christmas?"

"Yes, certainly. If you meet me here in a couple of weeks -" He gasped suddenly, his right hand smacking on his left forearm. He cursed.

Draco curled his fingers ignoring the burning on his own arm. "Go, go now."

"Tell me one thing," he winced. "Are you happy?"

"I will be."

"I'll get it. Trust me."

"I do." He turned hearing the faint pop behind him as his best mate disapparated.

As Draco walked the dark streets alone he contented himself with the positive notion that he would receive his potion. Theo wouldn't let him down. As of December twenty-fifth him and Hermione would be happy. For a man who used to not rely on the emotion, he was giving into it then, because hope was the only thing keeping him going. Hope for the mutual love, for happiness, to see and hear Hermione's smiles and laughs once more.

He painted a picture in his mind of them sitting by the tree under a mistletoe, but all of that was blurred in unimportance. They were clear. They were smiling, joking, kissing...

He reached the end of the lane. With a silly grin plastered on his face he readied himself to disapparate, but there was a green flash above him.

Falling to the ground was a reflex, his wand in his grasp. The Muggles far behind him not in sight, screaming in terror. He rolled his eyes upward and saw in the lightening pink sky a smoky green, a skull, a snake...

It was the first massacre in France led by Death Eaters. Hundreds were probably being murdered, his mate killing them off like disgusting bugs, but Draco was thinking of only one thing - person while fear riddled him motionless as the symbol he once believed so much in echoed in his eyes.

_Hermione..._

***

She leaned on the window in the lounge, her arms crossed over her chest. She listened to faded screams, and upturned her face to stare into the sky where the Dark Mark hovered. Morbidly she wondered if there was one over the Weasley home that night. She supposed so.

It as easier to look at, to not be afraid. If she trusted Malfoy with anything it was the promise he made. It would be a perfect chance to earn his rank back, by delivering the best friend of the late Harry Potter, but he must've had some heart, for wanting nothing to do with the creature that killed his parents, but she believed he would let her go. He didn't truly love her.

Soon she would see her family. Her faith was there that she would hold her brothers and sister in her arms again. They would be together. The pain that was a constant reminder in her chest would go.

Then the door crashed open, and she spun, her heart skipping a beat.

Malfoy stumbled inside slamming and locking the door. He was a sickening yellow color, sweat beading his forehead as his hood fell off. He gazed at her with... She didn't know the look, but in her defense she didn't have long to study it, because instantly he threw himself at her, his arms squeezing her waist, her feet leaving the floor. He rested his head on her shoulder, gasping for breath.

"You're okay..."

"They aren't here..."

He let her slip to her feet, but didn't release her. "You say that like you're disappointed!"

She shrugged wriggling herself out of his hold. She didn't like the intimacy of it, and didn't like the way she did. "I'll have my turn." She looked out seeing the green fading for a moment before Malfoy nudged her out of the way flinging the heavy curtains closed.

"You're out of your mind," he muttered.

"You're right." She was out of her mind, and it made her further insane that knowing it didn't bother her. Nothing mattered, not when she'd be home in the coming month.

He turned to face her, the corner of his mouth twitching. "Never thought I'd live to see the day Hermione Granger admitted I'm right."

She pursed her lips. Harry and Ron were having fits, she knew it. They would've already had their wands raised preparing for battle. All those little things that set them off. "Do you want a parade?"

His smile faltered becoming serious. "Hearing you say something only Hermione would say is plenty."

Like a string on a guitar he plucked the tightest, the one most likely to snap. She was despising that name, she hated it. "I don't have a name."

His eyes tightened, narrowing to slits. "Who told you that?"

_"You have no history. You're unnamed."_ She clasped her head, her nails digging into the thin layer of skin over her skull. She could almost hear Ron's voice, deep and gruff the way she remembered it. Almost... It was a copy of a copy, worn and not like the original. He was slipping from her. She was losing him. "No," she whispered. She didn't want to remember, she didn't want to see his freckled face, the determination etched into the premature lines, and yet Draco kept insisting.

"Potter? One of the Weasley's? Who?"

She glared, the fire kindling in her heart imploding. She ran forward and slapped him. She raised her hand again much like the previous night, but he caught her wrist and the other as she started to swing that one too. The sound that came out of her was strangled, a mix of a cry, a wail, a yell, and a growl of fury.

"Say his name."

Without her permission her shattered heart told him. "Ron..."

He pulled her to him, slamming her to his chest. She didn't want it or him, but she didn't fight back. She cracked, the string broken. It all flooded through as he hushed her, lowering them onto the floor below the window.

"There were too many. They kept coming. There was so much blood." Her voice cracked many times. She, herself, was cracking. She wanted to stop herself, but at the same time she wanted the redemption. She wanted him to know that she was beyond repair. She wanted her story told beyond any logical explanation. Somewhere, in the back of her mind she realized she was going through a process of grief. She recognized she didn't want to get over her sadness and anger for it felt too much like letting them go. And yet... She couldn't stop herself as she knew that it was coming too fast. But perhaps she would die in the telling.

"They all fell, and I just stood and watched. Ron... Damn him," she cried and cursed. "He wouldn't let me fight, he kept me in that ruddy corner. I should have... I should have..." She tugged at the strands of her hair fighting against the final blow. She wasn't strong but she wanted this. She wanted to die. "They killed Teddy, poor baby, Teddy. They - they -" She wailed, her entire being in convulsions, the memory clear in front of her, haunting and forceful of the blood on his clothes and his pretty soft face unidentifiable.

What grieved her more - if such a thing were possible - was that it didn't kill her. She was acutely aware of the pain on her chest, a thousand daggers of pressure. She survived the step she thought she wouldn't take.

She confessed. It was a step that came too early for her liking.

***

Draco could see it. The murder at the Weasley house. He saw what she saw, but for her it was a million times worse, it had to be, for his mind wasn't burned with those images. He only understood a fraction, and how she was doing it... His stomach churned at the thought. It was worse if he had taken that memory and peered at it in a pensive.

Helplessly he stroked her hair holding her head to his chest. She was gasping for breath, her lips trembling, her muscles shaking. He waited for her to shatter, the breakable woman in his arms. He clutched her hoping to keep her together. He sucked in her scent to ease himself, but it wasn't helping.

Shakily he lifted Hermione in his arms. With slow steps he carried her to her bedroom. He stared at her terrified features. She continued to scream the baby's name, and though his jaw was locked he was screaming too.

Carefully he laid her down on the bed. _Glass,_ he reminded himself. Brushing her cheek he whispered in her ear, "I'll be back. Give me a minute."

She didn't open her eyes or give any indication that she heard him. She was too lost to notice, and he counted on that. He didn't want her to see his weakness, not when she was so weak herself.

Draco covered his mouth as he walked out. He wanted to wash his mind in acid to burn the borrowed memory of that baby... Monsters, they were all monsters. A baby... A baby that was his second cousin no less, not that it really counted, he had nothing to do with him - never even saw him, but who ended his life? Crabbe? Goyal? One of his relatives? Who could have ended someone pure, young? It was worse than anything he knew, saw, or heard. It was beyond evil.

He had abandoned his ranks long ago, but for the first time he wanted to sever the tattoo off his arm, to cut every tie, every promise, he wanted to cut himself from his past. He would relish the spill of his blood, the flesh, the pain. That mark was as bad as if he mutilated her family himself.

He hated them, himself, his whole world.

Draco stumbled into the bathroom. He fell to his knees, the pain shooting down his shins, and halfway up his thighs. He wretched into the toilet.

* * *

A/N: I'd like to make a couple of things clear here.

First off, while I was writing this I didn't take it in phases. I went through it as I saw it. Hermione is going through stages of grief, but it isn't clean-cut, I didn't write it like a couple of chapters on sadness, a couple on anger. She's flitting in her emotions, yes, but everyone does deal with grief differently.

Secondly, I know many of you are wondering why I wrote Teddy into the massacre. It was cruel, it was sick, it was tragic, and I hated it too. But it made Draco see how far Death Eaters would go. He read Teddy's name in the papers along with the other deaths, but he didn't know he was a baby, not until Hermione said it. There was other ways I could have gone about it, but this isn't a happy story (not to say it doesn't have a happy ending), please keep that in mind.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

Sorry

After brushing his teeth (three times) he returned to Hermione's bedroom where she laid on her side, eyes wide open and unseeing. She had gained a bit of weight since being in his care, her cheeks fuller, her ribs only slightly showing... But despite all that she continued to look ghostly, like she didn't belong in the world of the living, or the dead. She was rejected. That's probably how she saw herself, but Draco knew that wasn't true. She was saved, and she did belong somewhere. With him.

A part of him wished that he could bring life back to her before Christmas, but as he moved his way up the bed from the bottom lying next to her, he knew that he didn't have a chance. He should've felt lucky that he had her at all, no matter the shape of her spirit, or body, or for however length of time, but Draco was essentially a very selfish person. He wanted more. The power he longed to have was now simply in the need for her, to heal her. If he could have that he would never ask another thing for the rest of his life.

He didn't know if he had such power, but if he didn't - if he couldn't heal her, he would erase her memories. He'd let her start a brand new life, but this time she would have an angel in the shadows. He'd keep her safe from the world she forgotten, and for her sake he would be content with watching her.

For now, he'd focus on the present, on her, while she knew him.

Unsure, he laid his hand on the curve of her waist. He waited for her to jerk away, but she laid frozen. Perhaps she was. He grabbed a blanket that had been kicked to the side and covered her with it. Still she didn't stir, and he began to massage his hand up and down over her ribs to her hip, her shirt rising and briefly he felt her warm, soft skin. He swallowed slowing his breath.

"I'm so tired, Malfoy," she admitted so quiet it was barely a disturbance to the air.

He scooted closer, his chest, torso, down to his feet were pressed against the back of her. He pushed his luck further kissing the back of her exposed neck. "I know, love," he said softly. "Sleep."

"Will you stay with me? I don't want to be alone."

Draco leaned from her so she wouldn't feel his smile. It was words straight from his most pleasant dreams. It was ecstasy to hear awake. "Forever."

"No such thing," she sighed.

He kissed the outer edge of her ear. "Open your eyes, Hermione. Life hasn't stopped, faith hasn't been lost. Only yours. I have to believe this, loving you is right," he explained, an explanation he had been longing to give since the night in the drawing room with his aunt. "I reckon I was supposed to all along. My path was corrupted, and because of my lack of bravery it collided with yours in a way it shouldn't have. I don't take responsibility for your family, but I will endlessly try to save you."

"They'll hate me for this."

"They love you," he assured feeling the large step she was taking. He was desperate for her to keep going, but he meant what he said. It was obvious.

"It wasn't meant to be you," she said as if he didn't understand.

"My lioness... How can you be certain?" When she didn't answer, he went on. "Potter was an annoyingly chivalrous human being. He would've forgiven me, and so would those Weasley's in time. You would have too. I would've proven myself."

"If things were different."

"Faith, my dear. They do love you, and things don't have to be different for us to... Be."

"You don't know."

Gently he rolled her to her back, and finally she looked to him, her eyes glistening. He kissed her forehead changing his mind in a split second from kissing her lips. "I found you. You're safe, and if you allow yourself you could be happy. You will not convince me that they wouldn't have wanted that for you."

The tears rolled. "I can't love you, Malfoy."

It was a stab, a twist, but he managed to give a twisted smile. It was for the best of her not to love him, not when their time was limited with a lopsided deal. "That's okay. You don't have to." He pulled the blankets to their chins, linking their fingers between them. "But know this, I'll always love you. You won't ever be alone. Now, sleep, please." _Please, before you hurt me further_, he finished silently.

***

His breaths slowed, evening, his eyes fluttering beneath his purple lids. His lips were together in a straight line, his normally flexed jaw loosening. He was peaceful when he slept. Like... An angel, her angel.

Earlier that day, she let go, letting the explosion break through, the one she was positive was going to kill her. Yet there she was, alive. She survived. It wasn't a happy feeling, more of a dissatisfaction, and oddly pride. If she wanted to, she could live her life like Malfoy wanted her to. She could be with him. It wouldn't be hard to live, not when she was accepting what happened, her vision clearer as if she'd been underwater for decades. She could see and breathe.

Ron saved her life. It was his final act, he did everything he could to protect her. And with as much guilt she loathed him for it, but not truly, because she couldn't when she loved him as she did. She missed him. He loved her too, she knew that for sure.

Then Malfoy came by. The least likely person that would save her, did. She wasn't grateful, not then, but she was getting there. One step at a time. She was learning, and she was a fast learner. But what she felt for him... It wasn't something someone could learn, it wasn't a choice. The guilt was almost overpowering, if it weren't for Malfoy's words earlier. They would forgive her. They would comprehend it all.

Her beloved family... They died for the good, now it was time for her to live for them. She couldn't fight the Death Eaters, but she could live. At least for another month, until Malfoy kept his promise. That could be her gift to them.

She slipped her hand from his, and carefully pulled the blankets away to stand. She was still dressed in her jeans and t-shirt and Harry's jacket. She tugged on her trainers and tip-toed out the door.

It was nearly pitch black in the house, but the shadows of the entryways, and some odds and ends of furniture guided her to her destination. The kitchen door that led to the garden. Leastwise that was what she was able to see out of the glass door, and outside where the late dew clung to the overgrown grass soaking her sneakers she saw that she was right.

There were lines of dug soil and plants growing due to spells casted, all blackened by the night. The air was chilly, and the ground may have hardened, but she grabbed a shovel from the nearest line and set it into the earth. She placed her foot and pushed it in cracking and heaving up hunks of dirt. She set them aside creating a large pile.

Her breath floated in front of her face. They came faster and faster until they nearly blocked her whole vision. Her heart was icy pricks, her skin frozen when she was done. She stretched her fingers, the blood returning life to them, and she threw the shovel to the side.

She looked down to the grave. The only grave that her family would have, but it was better than nothing.

She shrugged off Harry's jacket dropping it in, not feeling the cold creep over her. She picked the shovel back up and covered the grave patting down the earth.

Dropping to her knees she wiped her frosty tears from her cheeks with the back of her arm.

"I'm sorry... I'm sorry it's taken me this long for a proper goodbye," her voice broke on the last word, but she kept on in spite of the many croaks. "I'm sorry that I didn't do anything that day to save any of you. I tried, I really did, but I should've tried harder. I'm sorry I'm not taking this well, I'm sorry that... I'm sorry..." She had to finish. "I'm sorry that I think I like Malfoy. No, no, that isn't true. I'm sorry that I've fallen in love with Draco," as she said it she realized how very true it was... "It's wrong of me. But I know you understand." And they did understand. She could still see their faces, nodding with acceptance. "You've been watching over me. You see how he loves me. He has done nothing but and I'm wasting my time pretending otherwise. I would be dead now if not for him... Honestly, I wish that I were, but... I know you wouldn't want that for me, would you?

I'm sorry that none of you got to live as well or as long as you should have. I'm sorry for so many things... I do love you all, so much. You were as good as my family, and I thank you for taking me in, for practically raising me, for being my friends, and brothers, and sisters."

In her mind's eye she saw all of them smile, and she knew then that she was doing the right thing. For a month only.

She stood wiping her hands on her jeans, and went inside. Past the borrowed room she peeked in through the crack of the door. She saw Malfoy lying there just as she left him, his arms sprawled at his sides.

It was insane that she should love him. When exactly did she? Maybe she had all along. It didn't change anything. They weren't in a fairy-tale, Draco wasn't her prince and she wasn't a princess. She didn't lose a glass slipper, she lost everything. It no longer felt wrong to be with Draco. She wondered when she started feeling that. But it was true.

It was all moving so fast. At least it seemed that way, but she wasn't healed. She wasn't moving fast. One step forward to loving him only to step back towards her death. She didn't forgive herself, she hadn't completely forgiven him. She was smart and she knew that she was strong. She had survived thus far. It wasn't enough though.

She smiled lightly, her lips cracking to the unused motion of her lips. She left the sleeping Malfoy to the bathroom. She rolled her eyes as she normally did when she closed the door. She hated that Draco broke the lock on the door making it impossible to feel completely private, not that he walked in on her at all, but she knew that he listened outside of the door randomly.

She stripped and turned the knobs to burst out hot water. Her skin reddened, sore, and raw, but she scrubbed the dirt, sweat, and oils away, and stepped out to dry and dress in a drawer with her clothing.

She didn't have to look outside to know that daybreak was hours away, and in that case she didn't bother putting on her pajamas, instead dressing in a second pair of jeans and a plain black shirt.

Now all she needed was a wand and there was only one that she could use in the Draco house. One that belonged to no other than its owner.

She snuck out of the room to pad back down the corridor to where Draco slept. She crept across the floor to lean over him.

_He really is handsome,_ she thought before glided her hand under the blankets, feeling along his hip, a long bulge in the pocket. Lifting his shirt and feeling the knotty Hawthorne wand underneath she slid it out before making her way back to the bathroom clicking it close.

She stared into the mirror, examining herself much like she had that night that she broke it only for it and her hand to be repaired less than two hours later.

Since her outburst her eyes held a glimmer of life, and thanks to Draco her face was fuller, her collarbone not appearing dangerously breakable. She was healthy, there was a glow on her cheeks.

Her hair remained red. She ran her fingers through the strands before aiming Draco's wand at them. The eyes staring back at her became blank, a faint hint of emotion lying underneath. "I love you too, Ron."

***

A waterfall... A rushing stream... A shower. Hermione was in the shower he concluded.

Draco didn't move, but listened to the distant sound. He tried not to imagine it, but he was a man, and she was his weakness, her petal-soft skin, the way shadows were cast over her cheekbones by her long dark lashes. His heart traced just thinking about it, and he hardened thinking of her in that shower, wet, her hair plastered to her cheeks and shoulders, her curves with traveling droplets, and... He stopped himself. He had to, he didn't have much time left with her, and it would be harder to be away from her.

The shower cut off. He held perfectly still like a statue. He was glad for that when she came into the room. He could practically feel her steps being careful, the door hardly making a sound. Then he felt her hand run along his hip, and he prayed that she didn't feel anything more than his wand there, but apparently that was all she was looking for. His wand slid out of his pocket, and he froze, his muscles tightening, but he let her go, hearing her nearly silent footsteps exiting.

When he was sure that she was gone, he sat up. The bathroom door shut and he stood from his bed throwing the blankets to the side.

Outside in the corridor he leaned on the wall across from the door, his arms crossed. He was aware that might scare Hermione, but he wanted to see her without her knowing he was there. He wanted a reaction other than deep, unbelievable pain. He also wanted to be sure she wasn't causing injury to herself.

Draco waited for her for a full minute, once catching muffled words he couldn't distinguish. Then, the door opened, and in wide-eyed shock, his arms fell boneless to his sides.

Hermione's hair was transformed back into her cinnamon waves. The fiery red was gone, and for the first time since he took her from the cell she looked like Granger, warm and beautiful.

She fingered her mane self-consciously. "Um, sorry that I - that I took your wand." She held it out to him, but he didn't accept it.

He was dumbfounded and hopeful. Did this change mean she was moving on? Was the plans he made necessary anymore? Could he have her? "You look... Gorgeous."

She blushed furiously dipping her head low. He wouldn't let her get away that easily. He took two steps to close the space between them. He held her wrist directing the wand from them, his other hand captured her chin tilting her face up. He was drowning in mocha, in pale facets and planes. Of beauty in the finest form he ever saw.

He noticed her arms. Bare. "You're jacket -"

"Buried," she said hoarsely as if she'd been crying, which was normal for her. "I think it was best to give them a proper burial."

He nodded. "They deserve as much."

"Malfoy... I..."

Draco leaned in, feeling her breath breeze over his lips. "What is it, lioness?"

"I see now that you've changed. I'm grateful for what you didn't have to do for me, but did. I'm forever in your debt, but..." She closed her swollen eyes, tears leaking through.

He suppressed the urge to kiss them. She needed to say this, he could feel that in waves though he knew it was the last thing he wanted to hear.

"I'm in love with you."

His heart stopped.

"I shouldn't be, it's wrong of me -"

"No, no -"

"Please, let me finish..."

He locked his jaw.

"I'm broken, Malfoy. I don't plan on living past December." She opened her eyes, staring at him with burning intensity. "I can't lead you on."

He almost laughed. How little did she know. He didn't plan on ever letting her go for her to die. "Don't worry about such trivial things."

"Your heart is _not_ trivial!"

His lungs stopped working. His body was shutting down in preparation for the tearing it would receive if it all turned out to be a dream. It was too good to be true. She was worried for him, she loved him. It was too amazing. "Granger, I..." He didn't know how to explain how he felt. How to explain that she was everything to him... "Having you for any length of time will never be enough, but I'll take what I can get."

"It's not fair to you."

_No_, he thought. He wouldn't let her find a way without him, especially for his sake. He had this chance, and he would take it. "Say you want me."

She shook her head, and in desperate measure he grabbed a fistful of her hair making her stop. "I don't _want_ you, Draco," she choked, she laughed. Hermione Granger laughed and it nearly unnerved him. "I _need_ you, my dragon."

Dragon. He liked it. Hers. He loved it.

"How can I not need you?"

He gasped in exultation and covered her mouth with his. His. Hers. It was all relative. They belonged to each other.

When Hermione circled her arms around his neck pressing her body against his, he lost it. He bit her lip tugging roughly, he pulled on her hair making her mouth open in surprise, and right then he slipped his tongue through tasting copper from her fresh cut, the one he caused. That didn't seem to bother her and in return he hooked her legs.

He didn't cease snogging her as he carried her to the bedroom. If anything it became more fierce, her hands up his shirt clawing his chest and stomach. He felt as though he would burst. Bordering pain and pleasure.

***

She forgot everything. Her past, herself, her family, where she was at. All that mattered was that she didn't stop kissing Draco Malfoy. It was irrational to think she would suffocate without his lips on hers, but that's what it was like. She couldn't get enough of him, the silky feel, the warm taste, the arousing scent. She paid no notice that both of their shirts were missing.

Then he pulled away, and her heart skipped an erratic beat.

"No," she gasped gripping his shoulders.

He smiled. "Do you want this?"

She laughed for the second time. It was odd, but it was easier, the whole pain was easier to deal with, and it was worth it. It was a stupid question. "Are you kidding?"

He became serious again. "Tell me... Is this too soon for you? You don't -"

She shut him up grabbing the back of his head and stealing a long kiss. It wouldn't get old, she wished she never had to breathe, but she let go long enough to say, "make love to me, Draco."

She saw his eyes flash onto her left shoulder. He lifted his hand to brush the brand. He trembled. "I don't own you."

"I know," she lied. She did feel like he owned her. He owned every part of her that she lost and he found. Branding had nothing to do with it. She realized that she was moving fast. It hadn't been a month from that night, but if she was going to die she was going to do so without regrets. She would deal with her family when the time came, but this was for both of them. They wanted her to live her life... She was going to live it.

"This has to be of your own will. I have to know this is what you want."

She took his hand kissing the palm, then pecked his lips. She would show him what she wanted. Slowly she pushed him over as she kept her knees at his hips until he was beneath her. "If you're okay with having me for a short time, I'm okay with giving you whatever I have left."

"I only want you."

Her fingers fumbled with the button his jeans. "Then you have me." _Whatever there is left,_ she added silently.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

Worse Than Fire

Draco laid on his side attempting to determine whether or not he was dreaming. It couldn't be a dream, simply because he hadn't dreamed for years, so what he was seeing had to be real, and that filled him with an elation beyond his hopes.

Light streamed in from the window making the sleeping goddess next to him glow. He traced meaningless patterns on her bare back. He traced her spine, her shoulder blades, and her dimples.

Twenty-seven days. That's all he had left. As much as he would have loved to live in the present, to forget what was to come, he couldn't. He stared at the planes of her peaceful face knowing it would soon be a ghost to haunt his memories of that day.

Maybe he had it wrong in the beginning, thinking that one happy moment could negate the bad. What if his mind decided to be cruel, to obscure the memory until it was nothing he recognized? His mind could do terrible things. In the future while he slept she could be lying there like she was with her hands underneath her head, her knee drawn up to her chest, but with blood under her, cut up like her family.

He visibly cringed, and was glad that she was asleep not to see. He didn't want her to ask why, and what would he have said to that? That he was picturing her in the same situation as the Weasley's? No... He was picturing the pain of losing her, only a phantom of what it would be, something he couldn't feel until he experienced it, and every one of those twenty-seven days he would hope he wouldn't have to.

He decided that whatever nightmares he had later he would take, but he would not ruin it. He would trade every good memory for the one he was making then.

He memorized everything, her long legs, her elegant fingers, full lips with a small incisor shaped cut on the bottom. He would remember every detail for when she wouldn't remember him.

It wasn't satisfactory though, that one memory. He needed more. He would have them. After twenty-seven days it would all he would have of her.

He slipped out of bed, leaned in to kiss her cheek so lightly she didn't so much as stir, and bent to pick his jeans off the floor. Once he pulled up the zipper he took his wand that had been cast aside under the bed, and went down the hallway to a back room that was left of the bathroom, and virtually unseen in the darkness.

He swore that he would never go into it. It would mean revisiting times he would rather have left behind the day his parents died, but this was for the woman in his bed, the woman he made love to for he did love her dearly, he would walk through fire for her. Fire wasn't a good description, because what he was about to do was worse than fire, but it would be worth it.

He tapped the knob, and it swung open. Inside it was near pitch black having faced away from the rising sun. It was dusty, the windows fogged to the point they didn't serve their intended purpose, and it all smelled of mold.

When he walked he stirred up the dust particles coating the floor. He sneezed twice before he went to one of the many piles of boxes. That's all there were... Boxes, dust, and mold.

He popped open the lid on the first, and peered inside. There was a brown teddy bear with a missing eye, and its button nose threaded off, there was a toy broom splinters sticking out randomly waiting to prick someone who dared to touch it.

Draco closed it quickly. He pushed the memory away. His first birthday, his eleventh one. A new best friend, zooming around the garden as his father egged him on, and his mother sat uncomfortably in a patio seat.

He opened the second one. His gut twisted seeing the two crossed wands. His mothers a little shorter and thinner than his father's.

It was proper for one to be buried with their wands, but he didn't have time to bury them. He knew Death Eaters would be watching the place and so that day he walked in on his parents murdered in their lounge he took their wands, and disapparated. The rest of the boxes were things left at a very private estate in Germany. It would likely have been safe to stay there, but the memories...

He stopped himself. It was worse than fire, it was ice, and it was flooding his system. He was shaking.

He had to get the job done. If Hermione insisted that it was to be her last Christmas he would give her one to remember. Or at least one to remember before he let her go. Permanently.

***

Slowly, she woke. That's what she thought she was doing. Her eyes were opening, and with cause of shooting pain through her eyes by the brightness she shut them again. She was waking, that was for certain then.

Since that night she hadn't slept without a nightmare. At first she didn't know if they were real, happening all over with the sense of deja vu, but after a few days it was her proof that she was indeed asleep.

Turning from the window she got up and began her searching through a drawer of clothes. It was a bit spoiled of Draco to place clothes in the bathroom and in the bedroom, but it was handy.

She dressed in the usual jeans and shirt, and went through the hallway barefoot to the lounge where she stopped in her tracks, her mouth slightly agape.

The high ceiling dropped small balls of golden light, holly draping the mantle of the roaring fire, a huge six-foot Christmas tree lit the corner in blue decorated with berries, candy canes, and silver tinsel, a real glowing star on top.

Draco came from the sofa to take her hand and set her in the midst of it. She was surrounded in glittering illumination that left her without words.

"Look up, my lioness," he whispered.

She did as he asked, and saw a mistletoe suspended above them. Her eyes grew misty, but for the first time in a long time it was in happiness.

His eyes grew worried. "Don't cry..."

She shook her head. "It's the good kind of crying, dragon."

He smiled at his nickname, one that came to her in the spur of the moment from the meaning of his name. Ironic of how such a strong and dangerous creature could bring protection.

"Then may I have my kiss now? This mistletoe won't last forever."

She smiled back and kissed him. When she went to pull back he grasped her waist holding her there a few seconds longer.

"What's your wish this Christmas," he asked her.

Her heart wrenched itself in her chest her smile fading. "My family..."

He touched her chin bringing her face to hers. "I can be your family."

"But you're here..."

He nodded, understanding. Of course he would understand. He'd lost his parents as well. "Lets make it the best one we can."

"You're right... It'll be my last Christmas."

The anguish in his features was indescribable. She might as well have ran through his heart with a stake and at the same time done it to herself. Their pains seemed oddly linked.

"I'm sorry," she started, but he stepped back releasing her.

"Don't... It's all right..." He faced the wall refusing to show his face. "It's the truth... It'll be your last. We had a deal. I remember."

She wanted to reach out to him, to comfort him like he had done for her. Yet she couldn't find the brain function to reach out to him, her arm hanging to her side. She felt helpless to do anything, more helpless than she had felt when she truly was.

"I really am sorry."

He spun around, his face a grimace that was meant to be a smile. "I have an early present for you."

"Look, you don't have to -"

"I'm doing it anyway. Hold out your hands."

Once more she did as she was told, and Draco laid something that felt like a long, thin box in her hands. She opened up to see that she was right. She recognized the box, the same kind that Ollivander used to make before he...

"Open it," he urged.

She did, and there laid a 7 1/2 inch oak wand. It was old, the wood aged. "A wand..." She felt her face in shock again as she looked up to him. "You're giving me a wand?"

He chuckled humorlessly. "You're not exactly a prisoner here, love. If you want to leave - really leave right now - you can. I'll lower the wards."

Leave... She was allowed to leave. She could go straight to the Death Eaters and she could die. She would be free to go to her family and end the hurt of their loss once and for all.

Then she looked to Draco, the agonized look returned. She could see it then, how much he loved her. She couldn't leave him. Not so soon. She would give him what she promised. A month plus Christmas. "I'll keep my end of the deal," she declared before she could walk out that door like she desperately wanted to.

His grin reappeared, but she didn't want him to say anything, and quickly she asked, "whose wand was this?"

"My mum's. I didn't have the chance to bury it with her."

"Oh, Draco," she sighed. "This must mean something to you. I can't accept this."

He held up her hand to stop her from taking a second step. "She's dead. It means nothing to me. I want you to have it. You're a Witch, and Witches need wands. It won't work nearly as well as yours did, but it'll be something."

She fingered the wand in her hold. It felt nice to be holding one again. It felt like another lifetime, a different past from her own when she had hers. Emotional tears flooded her vision. "Thank you... I'll give it back... Before..." She couldn't finish the sentence, couldn't look at Draco's face while she did. Other than Harry and Ron she had never felt so protective of someone. It was odd since he was the one that was protecting her.

"I love you," he stated.

Still, she couldn't look to him. Those words... She loved Draco, she said them aloud before, but it was in the heat of the moment, not said with simplicity like he was saying them then. She wasn't ready for that. Not yet.

She didn't know if it would be worse when she left him, not for her, but for him. In the dark world she was living in, he was the solitary person that mattered to her.

"You don't have to say it back," he told her with a strong sense of sadness in his voice that cracked her resolve, but she held to it, thinking of him.

"You mean everything to me." That was as close as she could come.

He ran the side of his thumb from her brow to her chin causing her to finally gaze at him. He opened his mouth and then closed it again changing his mind from whatever he had been about to say. He brushed her lips with his own, and turned.

"Garden," he mumbled walking out of the lounge.

She stood there alone holding Narcissa Malfoy's wand. She held herself together with hopes that it would be over soon. A deal was a deal after all.

She could walk through fire, and it wouldn't be the right amount of pain to compare to what she was feeling then. She hurt him, she hurt herself.

* * *

A/N: Draco hasn't changed his stance. When he said he would lower the wards and let her go he was lying. He figured that she would stay to uphold her end of the deal and he was right.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

Mary and Her Lamb

Caroling. It was a perfect Muggle way to spend Christmas, just gather up the family and stand outside of strangers houses singing songs in off-tuned voice until either they came out to listen or they turned up their electronic stereos, whichever came first. Sometimes, they'd set a dog after you.

Obviously Draco had fallen victim to television in bars after his parents were murdered. He saw those episodes. All the ones with the merry carolers. To him it was a good way to waste precious use of one's time, but now it seemed perfect, a great way to give Hermione a Christmas, especially one that she would be familiar with. It was dangerous, he realized that, but now she had a wand. Not that he expected her to fight.

The coat closet wasn't filled with coats. No, it was filled with cloaks, all black, all heavy. They were only a tad bit dusty from lack of use. They would get use that day though. The falling snow would wash away the mustiness that was filling his nostrils.

Randomly Draco picked out one and held it behind him. "Keep your hood up."

Hermione did as he asked swinging it over her, flipping her hood over her hair pulled up into a ponytail. "Isn't this too dangerous?"

"I thought you lived to die," he asked a bit more harshly than he intended. It continued to bother him, the idea that she wouldn't be there much longer, that even after she said that he was her "everything" she still expected to commit suicide. She may not use that word, not even in her head he supposed, but that was what it was. Suicide.

"They killed all those Muggles," she said quietly, child-like.

"They did," he contested speaking of the massacre of the nearest town.

It was foolish of him, but he had to be sure, so last night he picked out his black cloak, the one he was covering with himself then, and walked to the town. It was rubble, the buildings blown apart, bricks lying over the street. But there were survivors. France was close enough to Muggle freedom as one could get. Aurors existed underground, and to the best of their ability they protected them. Unfortunately that was the reason they were underground. Too many were murdered, but the town, and many of the people were saved.

He cared little for the townspeople, but he couldn't help but think that maybe a little cheer was what they needed. The survivors couldn't forget there was hope. At the same time, maybe he could do the same for Hermione.

On the way out the door he asked her, "how well can you sing?"

"Dogs don't howl if that's what you mean. Why do you ask?"

He had yet to tell her what they were going to do. Other than mention that they were going out to the town. "We're going caroling. You remember a few Christmas songs, don't you?"

"Jingle Bells."

"The Elves Will Sing."

"Away In A Manger," she said meaningfully.

He chuckled understandingly. "Oh, okay, Muggle, right. Have Yourself A Merry Christmas."

"Rockin' Around The Christmas Tree."

"Silent Night."

"Joy to the World."

"Mary Had A Little Lamb."

She stopped short up the hill cocking her head to the side. "Mary had a little lamb," she questioned skeptically verging on laughing.

"That's not a Muggle Christmas song?"

"It's Muggle, but not for Christmas."

"Oops," he shrugged. "I thought lamb was a pet name for her son."

"Different Mary," she laughed, holding a stitch in her chest as he took her elbow helping her along the steep hill. "The Mary you're referring to was a little girl who wanted to take her lamb to school."

"Sounds stupid."

She was quiet a moment, stopping at the top of the hill for her breath. It slipped his mind how weak she remained. "You're right, it is a stupid song."

He watched carefully as her cheeks burned red. Not from embarrassment, and not from the wind blowing their clothes against them framing their thin figures. It was from the assertion of energy she put forth. It might have been good for her, he didn't know, he wasn't a Healer, but he did wish that just in case he had carried her. Not like she would let him, if nothing changed about her it was that she was just as stubborn.

Her eyes glazed over seeing something past his shoulder. He turned to see the blue-green ocean, the breaking waves that crashed over each other were louder now that he listened. The gray clouds were low almost touching them.

"It's beautiful," she commented. "Where are we?"

It occurred to him that he never told her. "Le Havre, France."

"England?"

"Taken over," he answered shortly.

Her breath was ragged as she inhaled, as though she was choking up. "They're all... Australia? What about there?"

He looked curiously at her, his brows knitted above his eyes. Australia? "Same as France. Why do you ask?"

"My parents are there."

"I'm sure they're safe, you can go back to them -"

"No," she shook her head violently, her hood nearly slipping off. "It's better that they don't know. You see... I altered their memories. They don't know about the magical world, and they don't know they have a daughter. They don't know who they are. I tried to pick out the happiest lives for them."

He saw then. Just like Weasley's last act was to "save" her, her last act was to save her parents.

A single tear trailed down. Without a second thought he pressed his forefinger to her cheek catching it on his tip. "There's no need to be sad, lioness. I'm sure they're happy."

"But are they safe?"

He couldn't answer that, because he couldn't lie. Not then. Not about that. He didn't know. He knew of one way to find out, but that would mean putting his best mate in danger again. He wouldn't do it, Theo was doing enough for them.

"Come on, lets go caroling. Keep your hood up."

***

The winter wind bit her face numbing. She wiggled her fingers inside of her coat keeping the blood flowing as they walked along towards the town.

She couldn't believe that she was going caroling with Draco. It seemed like it was out of an alternate universe, but there she was, next to him, trudging along in the building snow.

She hated to admit it, she never would, but the distant village coming closer and closer to them was... Beautiful. It was rubble, stones, and bricks littering the damaged cobblestone street, but the sparkling snow left a spell on it, it shining in the low sunlight.

Then there were the Muggles in torn clothing huddling together outside to keep the warmth. She felt bad for them, she wanted to help them, but they were there for cheer, only she had the feeling the cheer was supposed to be for her, not for the victims.

She directed her gaze away as they stopped on the outskirts.

"Mary Had A Little Lamb," he asked out of the corner of his mouth.

She smiled up at the man beside her, his face hidden under his hood, but she could tell he was smirking. "Silent Night," she offered.

"Sure."

And so they sung. Low and soft at first, but then louder catching the attention of the stragglers around them who stopped and listen with solemn appearances and a hint of appreciation.

She would have never expected Draco to sing so well. His low deep voice was not the bass she thought it would be, in fact it was a tone above that, lovely and smooth. She felt as though she sounded like a cat being thrown around in a bag, but she followed along.

Smiles began as hints across the faces of their audience until they broke into full-fledge grins. Some were mouthing along, others singing in French recognizing their tunes.

She smiled wider too. It felt good, bringing happiness to people that needed it. She had the closest thing to it beside her. This was right. Another act of goodness before she went to the Death Eaters to be killed. How easy that thought came should have been scary, but it still sent a comfort through her.

_Twenty-seven days,_ she told herself.

Then the world exploded. Dark figures approached behind the oblivious Muggles, and green light flashed blinding her, bringing her back. Back to that night.

_Fred, Bill, Charlie, George, Molly, Lupin, and Tonks. Blood splattered them, speckles on their snow white faces. She yelled at Ron to get out of her way, but he didn't answer, he only kept her in the corner, behind him as he fought._

_Ron shoved Hermione against the wall, his face frantic, and dotted red. He leaned into her covering her protectively. "Listen, love, listen to me closely."_

_She tasted salt and copper. She barely recognized that she was crying. That she was actually bawling, the tears mixing with blood. She nodded focusing every fiber of her being on what her best friend was saying, ignoring what was replaying in her mind. She had to focus, for Ron._

_"You don't have a name. You have no history. You're unnamed."_

_She didn't understand what he was telling her. She went to ask but past his arm she saw Ginny go down. She gave a strangled cry and tried to go to her. Ron held her back his face averted from the stabbing of his baby sister._

_"NO!"_

_Harry was momentarily distracted. His visage a mix of horror, anger, and breaking sadness as he ran to stop his girlfriend's attack. And then in a flash of green, he fell too, right beside her, their hands together as though they were holding one another._

_"HARRY!"_

_Ron was shaking. In a split second he turned to her. He raised his wand._

_"Ron, no, don't!"_

"Hermione! HERMIONE!"

Her eyes focused on Draco's frantic ones. His arm was coiled around her waist towing her away from the falling Muggles that thankfully her curtain of hair shielded her from. His wand was pointed in front of them as they ducked behind a smoking building.

The ear-splitting screaming could still be heard as they mutilated the innocent people just feet from them. It was significant. Different from every other screaming. It was tragic in its truest form.

She urged herself not to look. She had plenty of nightmares to last her a lifetime. She didn't need more.

"We're apparating," he informed her quickly, and they did, the swirling of white and red darkening until they were in their lounge.

Blood. More blood shed. People as innocent as Teddy, as lively as Fred and George, as funny as them and Ron, as brave as Harry, and as kind as Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. People that were others brothers and sisters, mothers and fathers. Friends.

She collapsed against Draco.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

Lying and Dying

The same bowl that Draco used to hold the ice for when he branded her he used again for cold water. He dipped the corner of the rag in and patted her hairline. Her skin was an off-yellow, sweat dried and sticky on her.

He should have known better, have been more careful. He ruined it. Now the Death Eaters knew that two Wizards, or in their case a Wizard and a Witch were living nearby. They would endlessly look for them until they were found.

Draco and Hermione couldn't leave anymore. The house was protected by strong wards, and unless these Death Eaters were very well trained in finding the hidden (usually they were not), they would be safe, but for how long was uncertain. Not until Christmas would they leave, when he would set her free.

"I'll never put you in that situation again," he told her though he knew that she couldn't hear him. She was too lost, somewhere in the realm of dreams, or possibly nightmares. How could it not be nightmares? "I'll protect you. You may not know it, but I will be there. You may not love me, or even know me, but I'll be loving you."

"Dragon," she whispered almost inaudibly, only her lips moving to form the words.

He hurriedly leaned over her, his ear to her mouth. "Hermione? Love, are you okay?"

"I do..."

"What?"

"I do love you," her eyes fluttered open to gaze at him with pure truthfulness, and he knew that she wasn't dreaming, or having nightmares.

"You mean that?"

"_Honestly,_ Draco," she reprimanded in the same tone - weaker but the same - that she used when she was younger. "If you think it's impossible to love you after all of this..."

He caressed her neck feeling the pulse under the thin layer of skin. He breathed in her sweet scent, sweeter than roses and sugar. As he peered at her he sighed. There was the reluctance, the resolve on her soft features.

"Draco..."

"I guess a month isn't enough to convince you to stay." It was not like he was trying to. He hoped, that foolish, useless emotion.

"Dra -"

"Don't," he cut her off. "I know what you want, and you will get it. Lets not discuss it."

Her gaped mouth shut as soon as he said those words. He felt an odd sort of sadness that she didn't give him a chance to truly argue, to tell her that if she stayed, his plan wouldn't have to occur. He could have her. Forever.

"What're we going to do, Draco?"

"What do you mean?"

"What're we going to do now? Are we going to fight them?"

He shook his head sadly. For someone that suffered so terribly at the hands of the Death Eaters she had no qualms about meeting them.

"We have to! We have to do something!" Her voice rose, and she sat up eagerly on the bed clutching his arm stopping his motion to dip the rag in the bowl. "Please, Draco. Something! All those poor people!"

He could hear her heart hammering, her desperate plea ringing inside. "Hermione, please, calm down. You need to rest."

"Listen to me!"

"I am, I'm listening, love. Avenging their death won't bring them back."

"But it'll save others!"

"Relax," he urged avoiding her eyes, his weakness.

She leaned back against the bed frame. "You don't have hope, do you?"

He pried her fingers off his arm. "Hope for what?"

"That the world will be... Like it was before..."

"Before Voldemort had ruled?" He finally bore his eyes into hers. He had to make her see that there was no other way. "Voldemort's dead, and it still isn't over. _Uncle_ Rodolphus is the leader. You know this. It will never end, as soon as he's dead someone will take his place."

Uncle indeed... Draco was the first person at the top of his wanted list, not only for his indiscretions against his former master, but for being a blood-traitor. He never thought of himself that way before, but he was... Here he was, protecting a Muggle-born. And he felt no repentance for it.

"If we keep going," Hermione continued. "If we don't stop, then they'll have to. Have faith, Draco."

"For what," he spat angrily. Why couldn't she see? How could she have faith in the war after all she saw? Shouldn't that have been destroyed? "We'll get killed if we try. I'm not risking the life I've built to act on _Potter's_ chivalry."

Her eyes narrowed, her breath shortened, her face became beat red. She snatched her hand from his. "Harry was a great man! Better than you! He died to save us all! And this isn't a life," she waved her hands dramatically around the small room. "You're hiding. You can't possibly be happy!"

He stood vaguely noticing that his fists were clenched, his stubby nails digging into his palm. "I'm _sorry_ that I'm not as brave - or one could call it stupid - as Potter. And you're right, I'm not happy. Because you're not. We can do this, Hermione. We can be together. It won't be a fairytale, it won't be like we can get married, have children, or go outside. But we can be happy because we'd be together. But you _insist_ on committing suicide -"

"It's not -"

"Call it whatever you bloody want," he cut. "Whatever makes you feel better."

She cried, her shoulders shaking. She slid down from the headboard curling herself into that protective ball of hers.

He exhaled a gust of air. He was winded by his words. Her pain. His pain. He couldn't bear it. "I'm sorry, lioness. That wasn't fair of me..." He sat down once more.

She had turned her head towards the window, her arms strictly over her stomach in either defiance or because she was still hurting. He hated that he knew it was the latter. Yet she pretended to ignore him.

"I'd give you the world if I could. Any world. Any life you desire. I'd do anything. But you'd be sending us to our deaths."

She snorted. "I'm going to die anyhow."

He winced as his heart clutched painfully at that thought.

"You don't have to come."

He readied himself for the lie he was about to tell. Again. "You'll get what you seek, Hermione. I'll make good on my word."

"You will?"

He ran a finger across her forehead pulling a strand of her hair behind her ear. "If it's revenge you want... I'll go with you. I'll take down as many Death Eaters as I can in the process." _In the process of dying,_ he added to himself futilely. He would keep his own promise, he would make Hermione forget, but he would keep the one he was making to her as well. He would fight back, and somehow find a way to make her safe.

"Thank you."

It somehow seemed sadistic of her to say that to him, but Draco accepted it. He would do anything for her. That meant making and breaking promises, lying and dying. Without her knowing.

***

It was cold. Colder than the night she had come out there to bury Harry's jacket. She shivered, her teeth rattling together uncontrollably. But she had to do this, not only for the fresh yet salty air but to stop the fear before there was one. She was protected by strong spells of course, but it was the action that counted, of being out there, unafraid.

Pushing the long sleeves of the borrowed cloak up to her wrists she rubbed her bare hands together. She cupped them to her mouth breathing in them. _Keep the blood moving_, she thought.

She stopped to look up to the sky. It was scattered into stars no longer disturbed by ambient lights, for there were none. Everything Muggle was dying away, including their way of life. She saw it with her own eyes.

On her knees she sat in front of the patch of raised dirt. It wasn't the same. They weren't there, not even their bodies. Their bodies didn't exist, burnt down with the house no doubt. Only Harry's jacket had remained because it was with her, and now it was buried in symbolism.

The night she dug the hole, she felt close to them. She didn't know why, but it felt as though they were there, and now... There was nothing. She only felt the extreme sadness of being alone, crushing her.

She laid on her side, on top of the make-shift grave, the hard earth smearing on her face, clothes, and hair. She pressed her shaking hand on top.

Every part of her body was shaking. She was having convulsions, freezing to death. How appropriate that she would die upon the place she made.

"Y-you're w-w-were alw-wa-ays th-here." She snapped her mouth shut, but still she trembled. She couldn't speak, not then, but she knew what she wanted to say, and she knew that if they were listening - which they probably were, they were all such a nosy bunch of people - that they knew as well.

When she needed them most, they were there. Harry and Ron saved her from the troll, they saved her from countless curses, Ron had comforted her at Dumbledore's funeral. They had been there. And there she was, alone. The only one out of the "golden trio" to survive. Because of them. It was always because of them.

"I ne-need y-you," she declared forcing the words out as tears fell soon to be frozen. "Al-al-always. W-w-why?" Why did they save her? Why Draco? Why her? Why did they have to die? Why... Why... Why... Unanswered questions, and she hated those, that hadn't changed.

There was supposed to be six stages to grief. She was going through them over and over again, for one moment she was accepting it, the next she was in pain, the next she was angry. She wasn't predictable. Only her aching was. She wondered, if she wasn't meant to get over it.

What was meant to be... Ron screwed up. If he had let her go, let her die with them...

If she had... What would've happened to Draco? Would he carry on with his so-called life like he was before he'd came and rescued her?

Maybe her death wasn't what was meant to be. Maybe Ron did the right thing. Maybe she was supposed to be with Draco. Maybe he was right, and their paths collided in a way they shouldn't have. Ron was rectifying the past, not that he knew it, but it was a possibility.

Even so... She couldn't live her life like Draco. She wouldn't just go to the Death Eaters to die, she would do something productive. She would fight. Fight to the death. For her family and all the Muggles that suffered. She would fight for herself and Draco.

It was with that determination that she picked herself off the frozen ground, her breaths clouding her vision of the night sky. The full moon.

A night that would have transformed Lupin. Instead, it transformed her.

Like a Warrior heading off to battle, she marched back home. Her face and beliefs set, her eyes dripping agony down her cheeks.

***

He watched from the window through the small spot he made on the fogged glass with the edge of his sleeve. Due to his breath he had to repeat wiping the moisture off to see her. It irritated him, but he didn't dare poke his head out the door in case she saw him.

For five minutes Hermione laid on the grave of Potter's jacket. How odd that sounded even in his head alerted him to how ridiculous it was, but he knew better. Potter's jacket represented Potter, his bravery, and what happened that night to all of them. At least, that's what it meant to her, and he understood the guts it took to bury it.

It was steps. Everyday she took steps to healing. The sadness, the anger, it all muddled together with her, not truly stages, but he saw the improvements. She got rid of Potter's jacket, and she changed her hair to its original color. Only, she still didn't respond to her name. Not truly. He said her name, and she blew past it.

Steps. One at a time. He could hope that there would be several large steps by the time Christmas came, but that was a useless hope, like so many of his were.

Ten minutes passed, and Draco shifted to his left foot allowing the other to rest. She had to be freezing. He worried for her health. If she caught a cold there was little he could do. Healers didn't exist, they were disappearing just like the Muggles.

He took one step forward, his hand on the knob ready to go out and carry her inside before her moronic behavior got her killed before December twenty-fifth.

Then he froze as she stood shakily, but her whole body looked unstable as she walked towards him, not seeing through the fogged window where he could be seen. Her body was a blur as the fog returned, and he spun quickly to go to the bedroom before she came through and caught him spying.

He slid across the wooden floor, catching the frame sliding back. He shouldn't have worn socks, he concluded.

When he pulled himself inside and shut the door, he heard her shutting the side one. _Perfect timing_, he thought triumphantly as he pulled his shirt above his head tossing it to the floor and crawling onto his side of the bed.

He laid still as he waited for her to come in, acting as though he'd been asleep the whole time. He evened his breaths, and slung an arm over his shoulder.

He turned on his side, his back facing her when she came in because he couldn't help smiling when he felt the bed sink slightly, and her warmness touching his back, only this time she was cold, and he shivered.

"Sorry," she mumbled placing her icy hand on his arm.

"It's all right," he said back, too clearly awake, but she didn't notice. So taking advantage of the situation he turned to her resting his head by hers, snaking an arm around her waist. "I love you."

She muttered something incoherently. He kissed her cheek lingering there longer than he should have. She moaned, and he relaxed beside her letting her fall completely into her dreams.

He wished they were dreams.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

Death Warrant

Draco was either stupid or he was brave. Was there a difference? A fine line?

He was stupid for going out to the rubble of the town where Death Eaters were looking for him. He cursed himself for wearing nothing but black that day. He knew that they were going to be looking for someone in a black cloak, but lucky him there were too many Death Eaters roaming around to take notice of him, and all of them were wearing black. Yes, very lucky. But very dangerous. If his hood slipped, if he looked too far up from the ground, someone could recognize him and before he could draw his wand (safely in his clutches and hidden in his long sleeves) he would be dead. One wand didn't negate fifty that would be pointed at him.

He was brave, because all of it was for Hermione.

Actually, no, that was a lie. It wasn't for her, it was for him. This was his backup plan. If somehow the first one failed and Hermione did as she planned, and she died (which she would), and he survived... That's why he was there.

So the final conclusion... He was a very stupid man.

With his head bowed, his wand closely to his side he slipped into the same dark alley that he'd been in fortnight's prior.

The same man in an identical black cloak waited for him in the shadows of the far corner. If Draco wasn't looking for him he wouldn't have known that he was there.

"Dragon," the man asked carefully, almost too low to be heard.

Draco smiled sardonically. He had forgotten that the pet name Hermione had chosen for him happened to be his name he used when he met with Theo.

"Rabbit," he whispered back.

He moaned angrily as Draco laughed. He waved his left hand dismissively. "Sorry, mate, I know you hate it. Do you have what I asked for?"

Theo's bony hand appeared from his cloak, and in the middle of his palm laid a small vial filled with clear liquid.

Draco reached to take it, but in a claw-like motion Theo's hand snapped shut. Draco glared into the blackness of the hood. "What are you playing at," he demanded trying to keep his strained voice low. Anyone could have been listening from around the corner, he had to be more careful with his slipping patience.

"I won't ask you what it's for, but..." He leaned forward. "They're looking harder than ever. I know it was you that night. _Singing_, or some load of -" He shook his head as if he couldn't believe what he was saying. "They say someone else was with you. Someone who _didn't_ use their wand - they froze. I won't tell you what to do," said Theo whose tone was hissing as he tried to keep it down, "but you need to pick your friends better than that. This is a war, a one-sided war where anyone can be killed. There's no such thing as accidents anymore! Surely you'll pass on the message."

"I'm sure she knows -"

"She?!"

_Damn_, Draco cursed silently. He slipped. He knew better. "Damn," he repeated aloud.

Theo stared at him wide-eyed. Draco didn't have to see in the pitch blackness to know the look he was receiving. "What have you gotten yourself into? A _woman_? Your in a worse situation than I thought."

He jerked his head in a nod. He was right, he was in a bad situation. It wasn't a world where people could love. By falling in love with Hermione (of all people) he signed his death warrant. Being protective of someone wasn't a good thing, but it was a package deal. That was the reason few Gryffindors existed anymore. It was a Slytherin's world. And yet, he couldn't find regret for falling in love with her (not that he had a choice).

"Don't tell me more! Don't tell me a thing! Except... Bloody hell, tell me that you know what you're doing!"

Draco wished he could say that he did, but he didn't. He had his plans, but even if he had a backup plan for the backup, he could fail. All he wanted was a decent life with Hermione, the very woman he shouldn't be with, and to make things more difficult she wanted to die.

"Tell me!"

"I don't," he admitted. "I'm in love with her."

"Bite your tongue!"

He sneered, "I know I'm digging my grave, but that is my concern, not yours!"

It was a stare down. Theo glared, and Draco glared back at him. His fists were clenched at his sides, and he saw Theo doing the same, and hoped that the glass with the precious potion wouldn't be broken. If it was, he only had one choice and that was to follow in Hermione's footsteps.

He narrowed his eyes, sighed and leaned back on the stone wall. He held out his open hand, the vial unharmed. "I suppose you should be happy."

Draco snatched the concoction before his friend could change his mind. "Thank you." He turned to leave, and without taking a third step he stopped. It would be the last time he saw his friend, if he hadn't...

"Have you changed your mind," Draco asked.

"No," he said at once. "I admire you, but... I'm stuck here. I'm rising in ranks. The faster I rise the safer you'll be."

"You don't have to -"

"Let there be some hope, okay?"

He sounded like Hermione. Hope. Like a Death Eater should have such. "Whatever you want, mate."

"Goodbye."

For the last time, before he snuck through his former comrades he bade the same. "Goodbye."

Draco hoped in a different way. He hoped that he didn't see Theo again for it was putting them both in danger. And he hoped that his first plan worked. He did hope for things, but for the world to change?

Only Potter could change it. And he was dead.

***

She was running out of time. Soon she would be facing the very people that took away everything she held dear. Everyone she loved. She would avenge them, just like they would do for her. She held onto that thought, not so much the thought of surviving, but fulfilling that goal.

What made it harder was ironic. She was going to miss sitting outside in the freezing cold by their grave.

It was evening, the sun high in the sky. It should have been melting the snow, but it kept falling, thinly coating the ground. She huddled inside of her two cloaks layered on top of one another. It didn't seem to help much, but it kept her from her convulsions, the one she had last time.

Last time was quite different from the one now. Aside from not shaking, she wasn't crying, and she wasn't lying on patch of raised earth in order to get as close to them as possible. She found such thoughts ludicrous. Perhaps she was healing. Slowly, but she was.

It wasn't enough to change her mind. She was bent on doing what was right. What they would all do for her.

She didn't speak. She sat there, content beside the buried jacket. Content with her idealisms of her own demise, content in her misery. She didn't say sorry or confess how much she missed them. She did miss them. Loads.

She watched over the black picket fence for Draco though she knew that she wouldn't see him due to the protection wards. He only said he had someplace to go, and he insisted it wasn't anywhere near town, that he'd be safe. She wasn't certain that was the truth. He was a good liar, and she was beginning to see a pattern between what she knew to be truth, and what was unknown. He blinked less, the sinews of his arms tensed.

She didn't press him then, and she wouldn't. It wouldn't be fair to start acting like his girlfriend when in days time she would be nothing but an empty corpse.

If she hated herself for anything it was the pain she was going to inflict upon him when Christmas came. She loved him, much more than she should, and yet not enough to stop her intention. She suppose she would, if there was anything left for them, a life they could lead, but there was nothing.

She drew her knees to her chest, resting her chin on them thinking back to that night they spent together. It was the first time she allowed herself to think of it. It was a thing that should have never taken place. They were both caught up in a moment that they wrongly created.

She had given him a taste of what he couldn't have for long. What was she thinking then? She couldn't answer that. She didn't have one. The moment she looked into his stormy eyes all her reasoning became muddled. She had _hoped_ for something she had no rights to. Him.

She did want him. Awfully, and irrepressibly so. It was need then, and it was want now. One overriding the other in terms of whether she was in her right mind. But who could possibly be in their right mind when they were committing suicide.

Like Lily Potter.

Lily Potter, Harry's mother, had virtually committed suicide when she told Voldemort _no_. She could have saved herself if she stepped out of the way for her son to be killed, but what mother did that? Of course she couldn't have, and she didn't. She died, and Harry was protected with her sacrifice. She wasn't crazy, or out of her mind. She loved her son more than her own life.

She loved him too. She loved them all. She wasn't crazy, only possibly irrational. Possibly. But she was more than in her right mind. She was thinking very clearly. Did that mean she was irrational?

She didn't want Draco to be hurt, but what if that was the price to set things right? She found a horrible part of herself when she knew she'd pay it.

After all, Draco wasn't going to stop her. She had no idea the capacity of his love for her. It could be a nothing, no more than a thirteen-year-old would feel about a fellow classmate they fancied.

No matter what the feelings were, or how deep they ran, her mind was made up. She would do what was right, and Draco would heal, because he was capable of that.

Her thoughts trailed off when she heard the front door shut, and her mind was consumed with the elation that Draco was home and safe.

* * *

A/N: I've received a couple of questions on how the good side could have failed if there weren't that many Purebloods. A very valid point for which I do have an answer. When Voldemort fell there was an up-rise and it was not just the Purebloods but Half-bloods posing as Purebloods. There was a lot more than they originally thought and they gave no forewarning before killing. A lot of the good side fell and the rest went into hiding. Harry was making plans with the others on how to attack back when they were killed.

I possibly should have included the Battle of Hogwarts but I thought the beginning chapter was more than enough of terms of who died.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

Christmas Day

Ten... Nine... Eight... Days passed... Seven... Six... Five... Hermione smiled, occasionally laughing at his jokes, but she still hadn't changed her mind... Four... Three... Two... She was still adamant about fighting what she knew would kill her... One...

Draco was out of time.

For anyone else, Christmas morning was a day to celebrate. The shining of the sun and falling snowflakes should've brought happiness. A day with family, eggnog, snowball fights. It hadn't been that way for him for a long time. Not since his parents died. Yet, that Christmas day was more of a reason to mourn. He was going to lose the only person he was living for.

Hermione looked like she did when he knew her in Hogwarts. She was healthy, a glow on her cheeks, her eyes bright. She did smile and laugh more. She read every stray book there was in the house. She was Hermione again or at least as close as he could hope for.

And he was about to let her go.

He eyed the woman on his shoulder, her leg curled around his waist. His arm was asleep, tingles from his fingertips to his elbow, but he didn't dare move it in case he woke her. She looked so peaceful, and he had the impossible thought that if she slept all day that the deal became invalid.

He could have scoffed at how thick he'd become. Of course she wasn't going to let the deal slide, even if on the slim chance she slept all day in which there was no possibility for she had been sleeping well. If she did doze until night... She had a wand, she would curse him surely.

He twisted his neck enough to kiss her forehead. "Wake up, lioness."

The corners of her lips pulled. "Dragon," she moaned sleepily. "Is it morning?"

"Bright and early." _For one of my darkest days,_ he added silently.

She opened her eyes for a second before quickly squinted them shut. "Ouch," she complained.

He chuckled touching her cheek and propping himself on his elbow to block the light for her. "I told you," he said.

She looked up to him beaming. "It's Christmas! Happy Christmas, Draco!" She kissed his cheek.

His heart broke. He hadn't seen her so happy. "We can sleep in..."

For a moment she seemed thought about it. It wasn't so much of a debate as it was contriving. "You stay here. I'll cook breakfast and bring it to you." She blushed, "I'm sorry, but... I didn't know what to get you. So today I'm your servant."

_Like a houself_, he thought but bit his tongue before he let that slip. She wouldn't have been happy with that, though he supposed it was fitting that he banished such beliefs from his system. After all, he didn't seem to have a problem with Muggle-borns anymore.

She hopped from the bed grabbing a robe from a nearby chair, and skipped out of the room.

She _skipped_! She was unbearably happy. It ripped his insides out, and he laid back on the bed, his arm over his face though he would have rather been blinded by the sun. It would keep him from seeing anything else so horrible for the rest of the time he had her.

Then again, it would keep him from seeing her smile. It was agonizing, but it was her smile, bright as the threatening rays. When it was all said and done, he would remember that smile she was giving him and he would be satisfied with knowing that he was part of its reason for existing.

He inhaled a deep breath preparing himself for when she came in happy once more, but that was dismissed by what he smelled. Burning... Fire... Something was on fire.

He leapt from the bed, momentarily tangled in the sheets wrapped around his legs he fell to the floor. Hard. It didn't deter him, he didn't let the pain register fully as he bent and untied the sheets from his ankles.

He got to his feet stumbling only a little towards his focus (the door), and onward through the hallway following the scent to where he knew it would lead him. The kitchen.

Inside of the door he stopped, surveying through the smoky film on which he choked on to see Hermione bent over the snowy cooker, covered identically in white, though that might have been an overstatement as her robe was white to begin with.

"Hermione," he called, and cursed inwardly when she didn't answer, her joyful mood not changing the fact that she still thought of herself as unnamed. "Hermione! Lioness? Are you all right? What happened?"

She turned to him, and it took all of his self-control not to start laughing then, his gut tightening in effort. It looked as though powder had rained on her. She was whiter than a ghost, her narrowed brown eyes standing out in contrast.

"Oh, don't laugh, Draco," she scolded seeing clearly the tug of his lips and folding her arms defiantly. "There was a small fire," she explained, and even through the white her blush was visible. "I had to use baking soda..."

He bit the inside of his lip. It was still hard not to laugh. "Let me cook then. Wash up."

"No, I'll wash up, but I'm not hungry." She glanced out of the window. "It's so pretty outside today. Can we go outside - to the garden."

Draco was a sucker. He couldn't refuse her. "Sure, go on and wash up. I'll clean this up."

"Oh, no, I should -"

"Go on."

She didn't argue further. She gave him a brief look of thanks and went off to the bathroom. Happily.

He grabbed a glass, and in a copied move from her anger not even a month ago, he threw it against the wall. It felt good as it shattered, his breath came out in ragged gasps. He clutched the counter, bowed his head, and let the burning tears come. He was losing her, he could feel it like sand through his fingers. There was no way. The hourglass couldn't be turned over.

He sniffed, coughed, and straightened. He had to pull himself together, or he would never give her, her gift.

***

The water was steaming out of the tap, but it didn't stop her from cupping her hands beneath it splashing it over her face. She registered the fact that it burned and noticed the slowing drip from her chin, her hairline wet. She held onto the sides of the tap keeping herself on her feet.

It wasn't enough that she agreed to stay with Draco through the holiday. She had to be _happy._ She should have been, she was getting exactly what she asked for, Draco would let her go without thought to his own risk, his own feelings.

She shook her head furiously covering her face on her towel draped over the rack. She came this far, she wasn't giving up then. There wasn't a life left for her, and for that matter there wasn't a life for Draco either, but they would go their own ways, each for what was best for them.

With her wand she cleaned herself. She smoothed her red shirt, her jeans, her naturally wild hair, forced a grin upon her devastated face, and left the bathroom.

She found him in the newly cleaned kitchen waiting for her. She lilted to his side grabbing the two cloaks on the hook by the door. She handed on to him.

"What's this," he asked as though he expected her to change her mind.

"Put it on, we're going outside," she told him swinging her cloak over her shoulders.

He did the same, and as she opened the door she reached behind her seizing his hand.

"Hermione, it's cold."

She ignored his rambling pulling him along. It was bitingly cold, her hot face shocked by it. But she didn't let it discourage her, in fact it only pushed her forward. If it numbed her emotions as well as her exposed skin than it was exactly what she wanted.

The gleaming pure snow piled to her mid-shin. She took exaggerated steps to walk, never letting go of his hand as tiny flakes swam down from the gray sky.

"This is mad, lioness. Lets go inside."

"Have some adventure, dragon." She released him to walk a few steps further and bend down to scoop up a handful of snow. "Draco, have you ever had a snowball fight?"

"No," he said, and though she couldn't see his face she knew it was staring off into the sky his mind far off to another place. It was a perfect opportunity.

"Oh, that's a shame."

"Why's that?"

"Because you'll never expect this!" She spun around seeing his confused expression that turned quickly to startle as she threw her the pact ball of snow right at his face where it flew apart in a rain of crystals caught by the sun.

Appropriately they froze. Draco took two deep breaths, and wiped his face with his forearm. For one second he looked livid then he broke into a short laugh and a sneer. "You have three seconds to run little Witch."

She laughed, squealed and ran in the opposite direction as he shoveled some snow in one hand and threw it at her back where it collided. She turned and took another handful and aimed at him missing a couple of feet in her haste.

"Nice try," he intimated already throwing one at her where it hit her shoulder. "Come on! Hit me! You didn't have that issue bef - " He sputtered as another ball hit him square in his jaw. He wrinkled his nose. "Now it's on," he called.

Draco feinted left, she feinted right. He smirked and she winked. "Is the big bad dragon afraid?"

He scoffed, "in your dreams lioness."

She faked left, he faked right. Simultaneously they both lowered themselves into a crouch like a cat prepared to spring. He then ran forward and she ran left, letting a squeak escape as he captured her around the waist.

She was doubled over in laughter, only him holding her upright, her damp hair falling to the sides of her face. Her insides squeezed as she laughed, and she felt him jerking behind her, laughing with her.

When he moved his legs tangled with hers causing them to tumble to the ground. Falling on him he grunted, but he didn't release her, and he didn't stop laughing.

She twisted to face him, her legs straddling his hips. Their faces were not an inch apart, their hot billowing breaths floating between them, getting short and increasingly quick. Their smiles faded and he reached up stroking her cheek with his thumb.

"Beautiful," he sighed, a snowflake falling on his eyelash melting in the same moment.

She couldn't pretend as though she didn't see the sadness in his eyes. It was clear, unmasked. It was more than mere sadness it was... Pain. With her fingertips she tried to smooth the worried wrinkles on his forehead.

It was hard enough pretending to be happy, if he wasn't going to try to pretend then surely she would break into smaller pieces. Soon she would be powder. Nothing more than what used to be.

"Herm -"

"Sh," she interrupted, ignoring that name he used for her as she normally did. "Don't be sad."

"How can I not be? Every second I'm closer to losing you."

"You'll be okay," she assured.

"No," he broke on the word. "I won't be. Don't you get it? I'm in love with you."

She casted her gaze down focusing on the light stubble on his chin. "You'll heal." She didn't know if this was to herself or him, but she was voting on the latter.

"Have you?"

Fire heated in her veins. It was too close to home. She glowered into his eyes once more, abandoning his chin. "Don't compare our pains! They are very different!" She pushed on his shoulders to right herself, she couldn't be that close to him, she might explode, but he gripped her hips. "Let me go," she protested.

"You're right, they are," he said hastily. "I'm sorry. But my point is -"

"What is your point, Draco?" The fire hadn't calmed. She could feel the heat burst from her.

"My point is... Sometimes one doesn't heal, and if they do it leaves a scar, and whose to say whether the scar fades?"

She didn't know what to say. She felt that she was healing, or maybe she was delaying it, knowing that in days time she would be dead. What would anything matter then? Maybe she wasn't allowing a scar to form because she kept ripping open the wound. Was she capable of healing? Could powder become a substance strong as steel again?

"Well, well, what do we have here?"

Draco and her snapped their stares to their left at the sound of the new voice, their grips becoming constricting on each other.

Since that fateful night she thought that her worst nightmare would be that she would never die. It wasn't true anymore. She realized with a horrifying jolt that her worst nightmare come true would be losing Draco.

It seemed as though fate wasn't done with torturing her yet.

* * *

A/N: I apologise for another author's note. I recently came across a beautiful song that fits this story. It's called "Shattered," by Trading Yesterday. I recommend it for anyone who likes this story.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

Enough

Inside of the gate were two men in black cloaks, one stocky, the other tall and lean. They were at ease with their arms crossed over their chests, their wands hanging limply. Inside of their dark hoods they snickered as if they found something funny about the scene, but it all made her blood run cold, a shock when she had felt so warm (burning) earlier.

Draco was creating bruises where he held her hips, until a moment later he came to himself, and helped her stand, taking a protective stance in front of her.

She had a terrible recollection of when Ron did the same thing. She tried to stand beside him, but it was deja vu as Draco pushed her back drawing his wand.

She gave up for the moment. Not because she wanted to, but because it wasn't the time to fight with him. She told herself that it wasn't the same thing. They weren't in the Weasley's basement, he wasn't Ron, and these Death Eaters were only two, not dozens. When it came time for fighting, he _wouldn't_ keep her back. He _wasn't_ Ron. And she wouldn't lose Draco like she lost him.

It was odd though... She found that she wasn't afraid, she wasn't feeling anything. It was surreal, a dream - no a nightmare. All over again. She could've been relaxing, reading a book for all it was doing to her nervous system.

"Be reasonable, Draco. You have had to expect this." The thin man pointed his wand back at him. "What do you think happens to traitors?"

"Worse than what happens to Mudbloods," the short one chortled, his hood straight at her.

"How did you get in here," Draco asked icily.

"Your ward is weak, I would've thought better from you. You only allow the people you trust to enter. Even pieces of them."

"Pieces," he choked out.

The tall stranger fished inside of his pocket withdrawing something knobbly and white. He pitched it to Draco who caught it nimbly without blinking an eye.

For a second he froze, and then began shaking. She leaned sideways to glimpse past his arm to see the reason for his distress, and she felt ill immediately, her empty stomach churning. She could feel her face ashen, her head spinning. She felt like hurling.

In the center of his palm laid a bloodless, bony finger with a gold ring of an unfamiliar crest. Draco folded his fingers around it.

"Bastard," he spat at the Death Eaters. "You fuc -"

"Draco," she gasped restraining his upper arms to keep him from storming at them, their wands raised at them threateningly.

"You killed him," he boomed, a vein popping from the side of his neck. "You bastards killed him!"

"No, he had the honor of dying at the hand of Lestrange." The slender follower took a step forward, Draco tensing as he did this. He barked out a short laugh. "Is this... It can't be... The Granger girl? No, I suppose she's a woman now. Beautiful for a dirty Mudblood." He faced her. "We've been looking for you. We thought you'd be next to Potter. Apparently you aren't the faithful dog we thought you were -"

"Shut up," Draco yelled. "Shut the bloody hell up! Don't talk to her like that!"

"You disappoint us, Draco. You should've been there when we killed them. I thought that's what you wanted? To see Potter die? For the Mudblood to go too. It was quite a sight if I do say so myself."

She was ice, frozen into the frozen ground. She couldn't breathe, someone having stolen her breath. She knew then, that the Death Eaters were one of them that killed her family. They not only stole her breath, they stole her whole life. It was their fault.

"I told you to shut it, Carrow."

Carrow... Her mind reeled. The Carrows who took over Hogwarts years ago while she was with Harry and Ron looking for Horcruxes. That couldn't be right. The Carrow's died. It must've been their offspring. She shuddered.

"She looks scared out of her wits," the stubby one said.

"You can come back, Draco. You can have the position your friend Theodore Nott was to have. All you have to do, is give us the girl."

Theodore Nott... She considered that name. It sounded so familiar, on the tip of her tongue. Then it came to her. Draco's best mate, Theodore Nott, the man who resembled a bad-tempered rabbit. He was dead? They killed him? She looked to Draco examining his expression but it was twisted with fury at his old comrade.

"Never," he growled.

"You're making a mistake," he sighed rolling up the sleeves of his cloak. "I guess we'll have to do this by force."

Draco shook his head before yelling, "expelli -"

"Expelliarmus."

His wand flew from his grasp into the waiting hand of Carrow. He twirled it like a toy baton. "Nice try. Now, if you don't mind we'll get down to business."

With his mouth agape in worry and fear Draco pushed her further behind him. She clung to his arm, her nails digging into his arm. Her heart raced, sweat beading her forehead. She was starting to feel the trickling haunt of fear. Not for her, of course, but for him.

"Any last words?"

Fleetingly Draco glanced to her. "Merry Christmas, love. You have your wish."

She couldn't speak, but internally she screamed, _no, this wasn't what I wanted!_ It wasn't what she wanted. He wouldn't die because of her, not because he couldn't but because she wouldn't allow it.

With half of her body hidden behind him she felt along her backside. There in her back pocket was Mrs. Malfoy's wand. She bit the inside of her cheek to refrain from grinning. Then, without notice she brought it in front of her. She didn't give them the chance to look surprised before she cursed the tall one, thinking of Draco, of her family. The blood, the pain, the screams, Teddy. _Their fault._

"Crucio!"

Carrow crumpled to the earth, his face contorted in agony. He bellowed in a way much like the Muggles and heroes he tortured. He curled into himself twitching madly.

She held her wand on him, not letting up. She watched as he became red. She listened as his screams became hoarse. She enjoyed it. Revenge was sweet. She smiled, feeling sick for turning so callous, but he was it, the one, he stripped her of her family, of her freedom.

_Stop, Hermione. Stop. Enough._

She heard her brother's voices as if they were next to her. And she cried.

***

Hermione's eyes danced as she used what was once was an Unforgivable Curse. The man was dying feet from her and she was smiling. It was her revenge, and there was no doubt that Carrow deserved it, but he couldn't help but feel cold at the thought of his lioness enjoying the pain she was inflecting. It wasn't like her, she was nurturing and sweet and feisty. What he was seeing wasn't who she was.

Draco stared at the scene unable to turn away from the frightening resemblance she was holding of his aunt. It was the same expression Aunt Bellatrix had when she tortured Hermione in the drawing room of the old Malfoy Manor.

Out of the corner of his eye Carrow's brother aimed his wand at her. He was shaking, inexperience plain as day in that action. However, Draco barely took that in when he bounded at him, tackling him to the ground, his hood falling from his flat blond head. The man grunted beneath him, and in return Draco pressed his body weight harder on to him grabbing his wrist twisting it until he released his wand.

"Your first mistake," Draco hissed in his ear, "was killing my best mate. Your second was aiming at my girlfriend. Neither are a smart move concerning that both will piss off a reformed Death Eater. And your third mistake was taking your eyes off of your enemy. Too bad you won't be able to put these new lessons to use." He grabbed the man's wand and aimed it at his head. "Adava Kedarva."

Green light flashed beyond his lids, and when he opened his eyes the younger Carrow laid motionlessly dead beneath him.

Draco looked to Hermione. Her wand was trembling, her eyes streaming tears.

The tears stabbed his chest and he stood. He went over to her, and laid his hand over hers lowering the wand. The curse broke, the eldest brother still but alive as his chest rose and descended slowly.

"Stop, Hermione," he told her quietly. "Stop. Enough."

Then she broke. Again. So many times she broke, and she did once more. She fell into him crying into the crook of his neck.

He supported her as he rubbed her back soothingly. He buried his face into her snowy flecked hair letting it absorb his own tears.

Theo... His best mate... He was dead. They killed him... Tortured him... His uncle killed him like his wife tried to kill Hermione. They would never stop. They would never stop hunting until she died too, and while _Uncle_ Rodolphus was at it, he would kill him too.

He wondered how much they could take especially her when she was already willing to give up her life. "It's all right," he whispered. "It's over."

"It'll never be over," she sobbed, a fresh wave of salty rivers ran down his neck soaking the neckline of his cloak.

He wasn't about to argue with that statement. He agreed with her. They would always be hunted, the top of the wanted list. France was now Death Eater's land. He was running out of countries. Soon there would be no where he - they could go.

He held her arms steadying her before he bent next to the unconscious man. Draco broke the wand in his possession, and then went to the eldest Carrow's breaking his as well, and took back his own pocketing it.

He strolled through the icy depths towards Hermione capturing her cold body in his arms. "I'm going to apparate, love. Hold on to me."

In response she locked her arms around his neck, and his around her waist. He spun on the spot apparating in his lounge. Without letting go of her he went into the fireplace and lit into a burst of emerald flames as he called out over her cries of a familiar bar.

They left their place by the sea in France. He only had one destination in mind. The last place anyone would think they would go. It would hurt Hermione to be there, but she soon wouldn't remember. He still planned on keeping his promise. It was after all, a promise. She upheld her end of the deal, now it was his turn.

* * *

A/N: There are thirty-two chapters.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

Harry's Last Gift

12 Grimmauld Place stood five stories into the darkening clouds. It looked as though it hadn't been washed since it was built. It was black, and if one didn't inspect it they would assume that it was painted to be black. Perhaps it was. She wasn't one of the people that ever inspected it too closely, even though she had spent months there, a summer even, she simply didn't see the outside much.

Incredulously she stared at it. They couldn't be there. Draco wouldn't dare... But he did. There it was... Sirius' childhood home, Harry's inheritance from his godfather. It was still there, like Harry's last gift to them. Like the jacket he gave her it was left behind to keep her safe and warm.

She choked on her tears as she contemplated that idea. Harry was still around, protecting her. But in a depressing after-thought she knew that he couldn't always be around – that he wasn't around. None of them were. She was alone, with her old enemy turned saver, turned friend, turned lover.

"Draco -"

"Shhh," he calmed her hearing the anxiety in her voice. "There's no place else to go."

"They'll find us." Surely there were Death Eaters there. It once belonged to a family chock-full of them. They would be waiting. It sent a chill through her. What they would do to Draco would be a hundred times worse than what they would to do her, a Mudblood.

"No they won't. It's mine and it's heavily protected. I just didn't want to live here... Not when it belonged to Potter. There's no place else," he repeated.

They hadn't moved from their embrace. She didn't know why Draco didn't, but she wasn't certain if she could stand on her own.

He turned the brass snake-head knob and let it swing open with a long spooky creak. He bent slightly and picked her up bridal style as though she weighed nothing. He carried her through the door.

She didn't want to see more than she had to. She didn't want memories good or bad to resurface that day. The smell was even the same, dusty, moldy, odors to set off a sneeze. She turned her face into Draco's chest, breathing in his musty scent deeply. It was calming, more calming than his words, and almost as much as his voice. She held onto him tightly.

"It's okay..."

"I - I'm so-sorry," she stuttered inhaling a shaky breath. "I'm sorry about your friend, dragon."

She could hear him gulp above her. "I'm going to miss him..."

"Why him?" It wasn't a coherent question, but he understood.

"I reckon they wanted to get to me. Maybe they suspected that we were keeping in contact."

"Were you?"

"Yes... He helped with my Christmas present."

"Your Christmas present?" She looked up focusing her gaze on his heartbroken face, the blurred edges showing torn wallpaper in the long hallway.

"You look tired," he observed.

"A little."

"I'll explain it to you in the morn."

Her brain felt fuzzy, her eyelids heavy, but she kept them open. "I want it explained now. Please."

"I know what you want. But tonight, I want to go to bed. To lie with you. Is that okay?"

She nodded numbly, her conscious slipping. "I don't want to be alone."

"Good, because neither do I."

She laid her head on his chest, his heart thrumming under her ear. "Are we safe?"

"For now."

She wanted to be awake. She wanted to be sure that they would live through the night, but her lids slipped closed, and she slept in his arms.

***

Draco had never been in his cousin's household before. They weren't a particularly close family, only a proud one. He saw the kitchen, the dining room, several other useless rooms. Upstairs was a study - two studies, three bathrooms, and then finally he found a bedroom near the end of the hallway.

All of the rooms were coated in a thick layer of dust. He counted three mice on his way to finding a bed. It was a very rundown building, but it would do.

On the old bed piled with flowered quilts he laid Hermione. She slept soundly, and he was glad. He was afraid with what happened that she would relive that night of the murder of her family, but she handled their attack well... Amazingly well. He didn't need to know what went on in her mind, he was simply glad.

Draco went over to a window balling up his sleeve in his fist and cleaned a circle of grime away so he could see. What he saw was seven shadows outside on the street watching and waiting.

_So they know_, he thought bitterly. The protection spells, no matter how powerful couldn't last. One day they would come in, and that day would be the day him and Hermione died.

They couldn't stay there. Not even for a week. They would have to move, to someplace that wasn't England or France. Someplace unexpected.

He glimpsed over his shoulder at her. She would have loved to see her parents. He knew he would love to. Yet going to Australia was out of the question. He couldn't put them into danger and that was what he would do if they saw them. They would die like the rest of her family, if they weren't already dead.

There was a rush of anger that coursed through him then. He wanted nothing more than to run his fist through the glass. It was a stupid thing to do, but he wondered if that was what Hermione felt when she broke his bathroom mirror.

There was only one way to win against the Death Eaters and in that case it was Rodolphus. They would have to be killed.

Everyone of good heart praised the Golden Trio for defeating Voldemort, specifically Potter, but there were more people than that. There was an army of their own supporters. The Longbottom's, Lupin's, Lovegood's, Thomas', Finnigan's and loads of others.

Him and Hermione didn't have supporters. They were on their own. They were the world's single hope, and the world didn't even know it.

He turned his back to the window, and climbed on the bed scooting himself behind her. He brushed her hair from her cheek gingerly kissing her supple lobe and neck.

"I love you, Hermione." She couldn't hear him so deeply involved in swirling colors and would-be's, but he spoke anyway. "Whatever it takes, I swear that you will be safe. I'll be here. I won't lose you the way we lost everyone. It's the two of us now. We'll fight this. We may not win... Bloody hell, we _won't_ win, but... I'd rather die trying, because you're worth it."

He rested his head beside her on the feathered pillow. Together, they slept.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen

Against Good Judgment

Where was the sun? By then she was used to it waking her up. It was morning, wasn't it?

She felt beside her. No skin, no heat. Draco wasn't there.

She sat up quickly, her wavy hair flying into her face. She heard a distant chuckle, and she pushed it away to see Draco clad in his jeans without a top sifting through drawers.

"Hello, sunshine."

"Hullo," she muttered looking to the window. It was so thick with dirt and who-knew-what that it was impossible to see out of, except for a misshapen circle that showed nothing but black. It must've been awfully early.

"There's no food here. We're going to have to find something in the next country." He moved to the second drawer from the bottom and slammed it closed nearly as soon.

"This building has been abandoned since..." She shook her head. She didn't want to revisit those memories. She wasn't ready for the happy ones, the pain of longing it would cause her. "Why do we have to go?"

"Death Eaters. They're outside waiting. It's too dangerous here. So you have a pick of Finland, Peru, Spain or Greece."

She stood, the cool wooden planks sending chills up her spine. She peered out of the spot on the window. There were twelve shadows lurking below, blending together, and apart, not worried of what Muggles thought, not worried about keeping the secret from them.

"Nowhere," she answered Draco.

Silence as loud as any sound came from behind her, Draco stopping whatever it was he was doing. "We have to _leave_, Hermione."

She ignored him.

"Hermione! Lioness! We have to leave."

"No... We have to stay here." She held back her tears, and faced him. "They killed my family, Draco. They killed yours too! We can't hide forever!"

He stood to his feet shaking the dust off his shins. "We aren't going to hide forever just until we come up with a plan, but I rather not be sitting here like gooses."

She came up short. "Like what?"

"Gooses. I don't want to be a sitting goose."

She couldn't help it. She laughed, but her mind drifted towards the Death Eaters waiting impatiently for them outside and she abruptly stopped. "Duck. The expression is a sitting duck."

"Why can't it be goose?"

She waved her hand, pushing past Draco's misuse of Muggle expressions. "I can't be going to another country while... While my place is here. They aren't going to stop. We'll have to kill them. If you don't want to - then fine," her breath was erratic, a desperation to make him understand working its way through her voice. "I'll fight them on my own."

Gently, he took her face in his hands. He kissed her nose and lips. "I've already killed, love. The youngest Carrow is dead."

She nodded, vaguely remembering the green flash. "I know..."

"I'll kill again. To keep you safe. I'll follow you anywhere. We'll do this together. If we... If we live, then I'll give you your gift."

"Draco..." She didn't know where to start. She didn't want to put him at danger, but that was foolish. He was already in danger. He was danger in himself. "This is my gift. Going to them."

He looked down, almost looking ashamed. "This isn't your gift, Hermione. I lied. I was going to..."

Something fell inside of her. For a reason she couldn't place she didn't feel angry at the lie. She felt that there wasn't a need to. "What? What is it?"

"I was going to alter your memory, and send you to your parents, alter theirs as well. If things went badly for me... Meaning if things went badly for you, then I had my own potion to take my memory." He gazed intently into her eyes unrepentant. "I'm not sorry, love. I think it would be what's best for you, but now... They know where we've been... I can't take a risk of exposing you."

With the tips of her fingers she grazed his light stubble over his cheeks. It would once make her furious to think that Draco would dare alter her memories, but... When she knew him as well as she did then, knowing he meant well, she felt eternally grateful. It would have been the best for her. But not for them.

"If I live through this... I want to remember it. To remember you, and what you did for me."

His eyes misted into a glittering silver. He held her tighter keeping her there, with him. "Whatever you wish, but we can't go charging in there."

"I agree." She did.

"Let us leave. We'll think a plan through. I don't want to lose you because of insolence, Hermione."

She bristled at the name. "Unnamed," she muttered, insistent in every fiber of her being that she wouldn't find that part of herself. She wasn't the same person. Not by a long shot.

"Lioness," he said, not in correction, but in desperation that made her sigh and kiss his cheek.

"Greece," she declared.

His brows furrowed in confusion as if he couldn't phantom such a choice or he simply thought that she wouldn't care where they went. "Greece?"

"I'd like to go to Greece. Athens to be precise. It's beautiful there. Large with loads of people. We can blend in. I heard there's a lot of winding streets. We can be lost easily. I'd like to go there."

He smiled. "Greece it is." His smile faded just as quickly as it came. "Do you have any ideas to how we can get out of here? We need a Floo Network."

She wriggled out of his embrace, touching her chin thoughtfully as she wracked her brain. She stirred up a cloud of dust that had settled on the floor as she paced.

There had to be a way, but if there was one it couldn't happen within the house. They had to be outside, where the Death Eaters were.

She remembered what seemed centuries ago when she was in the Malfoy Manor being tortured by Draco's aunt. She didn't remember escaping the Manor, only that she woke up with Ron beside her cursing in his relief that she was alive. He said Dobby got them out. Houselves were extremely more powerful than any Wizard or Witch could hope to be, they didn't know boundaries.

"Draco... What happened to Kreacher?"

"Died. He was very old."

She felt a strange sense of happiness at that. Kreacher died of old age. He wasn't brutally murdered like so many Houselves were. Like so many people were.

In front of the window she stopped. The Death Eaters had grown in size of fifteen. They were becoming impatient. Draco was right, they couldn't stay there another night. Or significantly _he_ couldn't stay there.

"I have an idea, but you're not going to like it."

***

With her back to him his eyes traced the ringlets of her hair, observed her curves. He relished the sight before him. He'd have to, before she crumbled his world with words he didn't want to hear.

"They can't harm me, right?"

His throat constricted, but he managed to answer, "right."

"Then I should go out there. I'll distract them."

His chest rumbled. "And how are you supposed to get out?"

"I won't."

"Don't talk that way! We're getting out of this together, Hermione!"

"Stop it."

He wasn't sure if she was referring to the use of her name, or to stop talking. He didn't do either though. If he wasn't going to follow Voldemort or Lestrange's orders he'd be damned if he'd follow hers. However, if he was to be honest with himself, he'd follows hers any day. Just not that day.

"No, I won't, Hermione! We're getting out of here together, or we're dying together. I will _not_ leave you."

"They can't hurt me with your crest. I'll be safe. It's you I'm worried about."

"They _can_ harm you! They can lock you away, they can starve you to death. They'll find ways around a spell. I'm the last person you should worry about!"

Slowly she turned around, her face streaked with its usual tears. But these were different. These shattered his insides, and he stumbled back grasping the bed post to keep himself standing.

"I never thought I'd be afraid for anything again after my family died. Then you came along, and ruined everything." Her voice broke, and she bit her lip her teeth making marks into her soft skin. "I can't let anyone else I love die. I just can't, I won't survive it!" She was shaking now. "_Please_, dragon... I need to face them, but more than that I need you to be safe and alive. Do this for me. Please leave."

He shook his head falling on the bed, his hands numb in his lap. He didn't dare look away from her. It was insane to think that she would run out then, but he had to make sure she heard every word. That she understood. "When I came to get you in that cell I was risking my life. We would have both died if we were caught. But you would have died if I hadn't come, and I didn't care what they did to me. They already killed my family. Killing you... I couldn't have survived _that_. You was what I was living for. All I wanted was to see you smile again. Now that I've seen you smile I can't let you go. I can't live without you." He realized when he stated his need for her that it was more true than he could imagine. If something happened to her... He wouldn't just allow himself to lose his memory of her, because that wasn't good enough, he _wanted_ to remember her. He just would allow himself the gratification of death.

She took out his mother's wand twirling it between her slender fingers, yellow sparks flying out at the end. The tears continued to fall, but for one hopeful second he thought that she had no sufficient argument. He was wrong.

"Then come back for me. When you have a plan come and get me."

He stared into her eyes.

"Please, dragon." She was unyielding.

His lioness... For what he wouldn't do. "Fine."

She smiled weakly and stepped in front of him. She aimed the wand in her hand to the tip of his nose, and he turned cross eyed staring at it. He should have been afraid, it was Hermione Granger after all, the most clever Witch there was, and she was pointing a wand in his face.

"You're name is Ocard Regnarg."

He was distracted then, glaring up at her like she was mad. "Ocard Regnarg? What kind name is that?!"

"It's your first name and my last name spelled backwards. Now, come on, Ocard, pay attention. That is your name. You know nothing of your history. Got it?"

She was doing to him what that Weasel King did to her, only more detailed. He had a name.

Red light came from her wand, and he closed his eyes. There was an uncomfortable shifting. Not nearly as bad as Polyjuice Potion (from what he read), but not anything that he couldn't help but wince from. When it faded he felt his face, but nothing seemed out of order.

"Go check," she offered smiling at her work.

He stood from the bed going to the bathroom. He looked into the cabinet mirror, and smiled at what he saw. His white-blond hair and silver eyes were brown, the same shade as hers, his skin complexion darkened, and his nose shorter and jaw line wider diminishing his pointed look. It was much more complex than what Weasley did to her.

Did. To. Her. That was a good sum of what happened in those last seconds of the murder at the Weasley's. Hermione didn't have a choice in what came of her. In some ways she would've been better off dead. They all would have.

He emerged into the bedroom. She held his black cloak in her hand. He directed his eyes from it. "Thank you." He smirked wickedly, a little forced, "I hope you're not too fond of this appearance. I fully plan on getting you out."

She chuckled. "I like your original colors, your structure. You're a very handsome man." She choked, desperate to keep her smile, "I'm going to miss you."

"Shhh, shhh," he hurried wiping her tears. "None of that. We'll be together soon. I promised, didn't I?"

"Yes," she down casted her gaze.

"I will get you out," he vowed. "Soon this will all be over." He just didn't know how it was going to end. Who would live, who would die. Their chances weren't great. He wished his voice was steadier as he spoke the next words to her, but they were trembling. "I love you Hermione Granger. No matter what you call yourself, I love you. In a world where we don't belong, and love is a dangerous feeling I do feel it for you, and that won't change."

She wrapped the cloak around him, pulling his hood over his head. "Go. Go now."

He touched her hair, her wet cheek. He bent and kissed her lips. It was meant to be a peck, but he pressed harder and she pressed back. He grasped her hips pulling her to him. He inhaled her sweet honey and lilac scent, tasted what could only be described as her. He drank everything in of her as if it was air.

It was with all of the self-control he had he pulled away. He kept his eyes closed not wanting to see her tearful expression. He thought of her smile, her laughter. Some old memories, some new. Her dancing at the Yule Ball, and her throwing snowballs at him in the garden.

Then he disapparated to the nearest Wizarding pub leaving the only person he cared for behind. The moment he arrived in the dank building that smelled of stale Fire whiskey he felt that he left everything inside of him there.

She was his heart, lungs, and thoughts. She occupied every bit of him. She was his life. She was his everything.

And he left against every good judgment he had into the green flames, to Greece. The country she picked out for them.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

Dreams

For over a month she waited to be able to die. She kept her promise to Draco and she more than earned the right to fight them. How did Harry put it once...

_"I realized I can't shut myself away or crack up. It could be me next, couldn't it? But if it is, I'll make sure I take as many Death Eaters with me as I can and Voldemort too, if I can manage it."_

She didn't do a good job... She didn't handle it as well as Harry did. She did shut herself away and she did crack up. And now it was her turn, and she would do what Harry did. She would take down as many Death Eaters as she could. She was going to do it. She was going to fight them.

She opened her eyes and saw the far wall swimming in her vision. Draco had left. Two emotions pounded through her. Happiness that he was safe. Sadness that she was alone. Two emotions that disappeared as soon as they arrived. He could no longer keep her under his wing. It was time that she stood on her own. It was for the best. Even if he never came for her, she would die with as much honor and nobility as her family.

Slowly, step by step she walked out of the bedroom, down the hallway, down the stairs. She wondered if what she was feeling was how Harry felt before he died the first time at the "final" battle. She doubted it. Harry lost a great deal but he had people to live for. She only had one, and he was gone.

What she felt was a numbness. Her feelings were there. Fear that it would hurt (it would, they would be sure of it) and worry for Draco. Worry that she _wouldn't_ die and worry that she _would._ Worry and fear were drowned in the background of the sweet numb that set in. She wasn't feeling anything and that was good. She didn't want to feel.

She stopped in front of the door with the brass snake handle. One by one in her mind's eye she saw her family. All with sad smiles, shaking their heads with disappointment that she would give up her life.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, "but you were the lucky ones..." There was nothing more to say. Nothing to do, but to step out and die.

Taking the cold handle like ice in her hand she pulled it open, a cool gust of wind hitting her face numbing her skin as well. Numb inside and out, it was appropriate like being blinded by the sun so long ago when Draco saved her. It was as though the weather altered itself to fit her. Nothing was that accommodating though, she knew better than that. But it was nice. Nice to have everything fit.

She took one step forward out of the protective barrier placed around the house onto the small porch. The fifty Death Eaters hoods pointed to her. All of their wands raised, and her heart sped up.

_It's time,_ she thought. _Thank you, Draco, for making my last month worth living for. Because of you I lived to love again. I hope you'll safe and happy in Greece. I hope you don't come for me, but I suppose I'll see you sooner than I'd like. I love you._

She raised her wand and smiled sadistically. Who knew it would come down to this. Hermione Granger against the Death Eaters.

She laughed suddenly, the enemy looking to each other in confusion. Yes, she was Hermione Granger she could accept that now. She was the same girl to smack Malfoy in their third year, to dance with Victor Krum at the Yule Ball, to sneak to bring Harry's cloak back when he left it in a passageway to avoid being caught... She was her. Hermione.

***

In the darkness of an ally Draco tossed his cloak aside. He felt vulnerable without it, like a Death Eater was going to come along and do him in, but at the same time it felt freeing. He was out in public without the fear of someone recognizing him. No one could without taking a closer look.

He sat down concealing himself in with his surroundings. A skilled chameleon as he was watching the passerby's. Along the cobblestone path some were taking on those small Muggle devices, others were walking dogs. There was a family ahead of him that he kept his sights on.

There was a gangly man with a beautiful woman and a stout boy. The boy ran back and forth through a flock of pigeons making them ruffle their feathers and take flight into the clear cool sky. The parents laughed, and the father ran ahead and scooped his son in his arms spinning him around, the boy's laughter ringing through the plaza.

Draco looked away from the happy family staring down at his dirty hands and trainers with holes in the soles. He was that stereotypical homeless person on the side of the road watching people and contemplating what his life would have been like, playing a one-sided what if.

What if Potter won? What if he hadn't been a prat for most of his life? What if Hermione took notice of him in their fourth year when he finally took a proper liking to her? What if he hadn't left her to die mere hours ago?

The questions that would never be answered. He was a specialist at asking those. Nonetheless he thought about those outcomes. He would have been with her, somehow, someway. And he was. For a few weeks he had her in his arms. It was more than he should have asked for, but he messed up. He left her. He shouldn't have let her have her way. He was an idiot.

He looked back at the family peering through the gaps of people. They could have had that, if so many things went differently. That could have been them on vacation, their son playing through birds. Them laughing. Them happy. Useless dreams of what could never be. That's what made them dreams.

His attention then was diverted when a girl came around the corner. She had waist-long strawberry blond hair, a light smile on her lips, a wistful aura about her. She seemed very familiar, but Draco couldn't put a name to her. She looked purposefully at him as though she could see through the darkness. He shrank further back but she fluidly sat next to him.

Draco watched her as she gazed around at the crowd before peering curiously at him again. "What are you going by," she asked as if she was asking about the weather.

"Ocard Regnarg," he told her trying to keep the natural drawl out of his tone but there didn't seem to be a need. She knew who he was.

She laughed, a tinkle like bells. "That's funny, Draco. I suppose Hermione came up with that?"

He froze at the sound of her name on someone else's lips. It was foreign to hear it without menace. "How do you know?"

"Your names are reversed. She was very clever. It's a good spell she did on you, but you still look like you."

He knew who she was then, the weirdest friend of Hermione's. Loony - Luna Lovegood. It struck him as funny that of all the people who died she would have survived thus far. The only friend she didn't know she had left. She was alive. How?

"I know what you're thinking," she said. "I hide pretty well. People don't notice me much, you see."

He nodded. He heard that she was strikingly honest and very perceptive. After all that happened, she hadn't changed.

"It's good to know that she's still alive. I was worried about her." Despite her airy tone she sincerely sounded like she was worried.

"How," he asked shortly wanting to cut to the chase of asking a full-fledged question. He had a feeling that she knew what he meant.

"You were obvious at the ball. You didn't take your eyes off of her. It was cute."

"How," he asked again.

"I read about their deaths too. Awful... I went to take her from the cells, but you had gotten there first I suppose. Everyone else is dead, I could only assume it was you."

"Everyone else..." It wasn't a question, but she answered anyhow.

"Yes," she nodded thoughtfully a frown on her lips. "Everyone is dead. It's very lonely." She smiled at him, "but you're here now and we'll get her back."

He came up short at her plural. "We?"

"Yes. We. I love her too. Only in a different way."

A smirked played on him. "A Ravenclaw and Slytherin Pureblood teaming up to save a Gryffindor Muggle-born? I think I'll have to agree."

She held out her small hand and he took it, the promise tingling through his fingers. He had a comrade, someone on his side. Hermione might have a fighting chance. Then again it was easy to be optimistic when there was one more person willing to die with him.

***

Hermione shot a silent spell to the nearest Death Eater. He flew back landing with a hard crunch twenty feet away from where he was once standing. His partner next to him looked back to him and to her sending a spell her way, but Hermione, curious to see if the crest really did work let it hit her, only it didn't. It stopped inches from her, an invisible shield around her. She laughed again. Maybe she was cracking up.

"Do not harm her! She is to be alive! Stand down!"

Every one of the Death Eaters lowered their wands taking a few steps from her, but still forming a circle with her in the center.

Hermione stopped, her wand raised. She stared incredulously at the man who told them not to hurt her. She could feel her mouth open in surprise. She tried to peer through the hood. Dare she think that it was someone on her side?

"Hermione Granger," the man chuckled. "We have waited a long time for you."

"Who are you," she said, her voice a lot stronger than she thought it would be. It gave her further courage. She could do this. She would be brave. She was a Gryffindor after all.

"I am Rodolphus Lestrange." The man pulled down his hood, his black hair wild like his sisters used to be - before Molly Weasley killed her. His eyes were deep set, but just as crazy. He smiled showing a missing tooth on his bottom jaw the rest yellow and looked close to falling out as well.

She should have felt afraid of the man who had taken Voldemort's place, but she wasn't. She was eager too meet their fate. "It's nice to finally meet you," she said.

He chuckled, amused by her reaction to him. "Surely Ms. Granger, you do not mean that."

"Oh, but I do. I was wondering when I'd get the chance to kill you myself." She raised her wand once more, but three Death Eaters took ranks in front of him, willing to die for their master.

"Ensnare her," Lestrange ordered from behind them, "but do not harm her! As you've witnessed from Goyle's stupid attempt it will only harm you."

Hermione's wand was out of her grasp immediately, and thick ropes snaked themselves from her ankles up to her shoulders binding her in a stiff pole. She tried to keep her balance, but when her gaze connected again with the murderer of her family she lost it and fell into the arms of the closest Death Eater, her blood boiling in her veins.

There it was, that rumbling in her chest as he came up to her. "I guess I'll be seeing my nephew soon, shouldn't I?" He clucked his tongue, "it's a shame, of someone with prideful heritage would fall in _love_ with you. Love, funny that it should even exist."

"Don't hold your breath for him to come. I'm not." She hoped her lie was efficient enough to believe. She really did want to believe it.

"You don't know him very well then, do you?" He jerked his head to the side. "Take her," he told the others.

Hermione was swept away into a sidelong apparation, the Muggle street that held so many memories fell from her vision.


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter Eighteen

A Brighter Hope

"What's the plan," Lovegood asked cheerily turning her back to him to take a pitcher of lemonade out of the fridge.

Draco raised a brow at her happiness Either she was pretending that the yelling next door didn't bother her or it really didn't. It bothered him and more-so that he couldn't understand the couple through the paper-thin walls. If he spoke Greek then it would've been a different story - literally.

He was sure he hadn't been in a building as run down as Lovegood's flat in his life. The antique flowered wallpaper was torn in strips, every wood floorboard creaked, and a gray mouse scurried on top of the counter raising on its hid legs.

"Lex," she greeted fondly, handing the rodent a cracker out of her front pocket overalls. The mouse took it eagerly and ran into a hole in the corner.

He was a hundred percent positive he hadn't been in a place like hers. He would once turn up his nose and scoff at such a notion, but he found it better than sleeping outside in a foreign country, the sun sinking into the gold horizon. He was grateful towards the odd woman and strangely felt closer to Hermione with her. There was a kinship between them, through his lioness.

"Draco," she said as if they were old friends capturing his attention. She poured two glasses setting one in front of him sitting in the seat across the rickety table. "Is it a flibber that has you so dreamy?"

He shook his head remembering that she believed in creatures that didn't exist which earned the nickname as Loony in the first place. He had to rid of the notion of hexing her for calling him dreamy no matter how it was used.

"What is the plan?"

"To go in and kill the lot of them," he groaned honestly.

She fingered the rim of her glass. "That won't get you very far," she assessed.

He thought of Hermione alone and cold in the cellar of that mansion. She must have been afraid, possibly questioning his loyalty to her. Of all the Galleons he would give to get her back he would give them all. He didn't know of another plan, he couldn't even think straight. Suddenly his optimism was shrinking, filled in its void by a ticking timer that would soon explode.

Draco didn't realize that his hands were shaking until Lovegood took them in hers. "She's strong, she'll be all right," she reassured him, holding his gaze. "We'll save her."

In that moment he believed her. She was honest and pure. It was impossible not to feel hope as she kindled the fire that Hermione unknowingly kept alive by her presence.

He grasped her tightly needing to know. "What if we're too late?"

"Then we have each other."

He didn't have to ask to know what happened to her to say it as if it wouldn't be so bad. He read about it in the same paper he read about the Weasley's and Lupin's. She had come home, like himself, to find the Dark Mark over her house, her father dead inside. She had ran with her boyfriend Dean Thomas until he died too... Saving her. She had escaped death more than anyone aside from Hermione and Potter. She was an inspiration. How could he have not see it in her before?

"Luna," he spoke her name for the first time. It felt good. "I can't live without her."

"You have to," she responded matter-of-factly. "There has to be a balance of good and bad. If you leave then it goes out of balance. The bad will be greater than the good."

"It already is."

"I don't think that. There are loads of good people. Do you recall the family in the plaza? They're there every Saturday, always happy and good. Sometimes we don't see clearly."

"Tragedy is blinding."

"If you consider love to be blind."

He blinked startled, but she released his hands sipping her drink.

What it must be like to be a Lovegood he could only imagine. He only knew of being a Malfoy, but truly for the first time it didn't seem so bad to want to be someone else. To be a Lovegood.

"What do you have in mind," he asked her.

She smiled.

***

Hermione was once more in a dark, damp place. This time it was a cellar with slick stone floors and walls smelling like mildew. This time she was bound lying on the floor. It had to be below freezing. She shivered violently her jaw sore from clenching it closed. If she dared let loose her teeth would break from impact.

Draco was right (not that she was surprised) if they couldn't harm her by hand or wand they'd find another way. A large part of her wished that the crest didn't work. her death would have been over much quicker. Instead it was an ongoing suffering. Draco cursed her the same way Ron had, all in attempt to keep her alive.

A Muggle-born, best friend of Harry Potter, a runaway, a clever Witch... It was a waste of energy to try to save her. She was doomed from the beginning. They just prolonged the inevitable.

Soundlessly the door opened casting a painful light over the narrow staircase. She shut her eyes but strained to hear the rumbling of voices above, but the clicking of leather shoes drowned it out. Then the door slammed, the voices gone. She hadn't heard a word.

"Ms. Granger," Lestrange greeted.

She didn't say anything. He couldn't hurt her and giving him the silent treatment was better than giving him the pleasure of getting a rise out of her.

He sat beside her stretching his legs in front of him. She didn't know that the leader of the foulest Wizards could be so relaxed.

"You know, I'm not as evil as you think I am," he said as though reading her mind. "I made all the right choices for a Pureblood. I associated myself with the best, I was given the Dark Mark young, married a fellow Death Eater. It was the greatest of privileges to take his place." He spoke with reverence and pride. "I have deserved my rank."

Her gut retracted as she became immensely nervous. Why was he telling this to her? why not get to the point of why he was there? Was he savoring the moment, a build up before he reveled why?

"I can now fulfill any of the desires of my heart. Yes, my dear girl, I have a heart." He brushed his fingers over her cheek and she tried to recoil, but that reaction was not granted by her ropes. "Do you know what my desire is?"

_No_, she thought, horror gripping her in its unrelenting hold. _No, this can't be happening._

"I desire you. You're a filthy Mudblood, yes, but you are quite beautiful. You would give me great pleasure." His hand slid down her jaw to her neck.

She felt like puking at his caresses, but that wasn't possible when her stomach was empty and she would have to open her mouth in the process. She balled her hands into fists, her nails cutting into her palm.

Lestrange trailed further, hooking the neckline of her shirt ripping it along its seam. She flinched, a fresh wave of cold air brining a new numbness to her bare shoulder and the neckline digging in, burning like skin rubbing over a rug.

"Shhh," he cooed sickeningly, tracing her brand. "My nephew is a smart boy. It's too bad that I'll have to kill him. I'll make it quick, my dear. He won't feel pain for long."

She shivered this time not from the cold. She thought of Draco's face, red with torture, his screams, all from trying to save her - the girl who couldn't be saved. She opened her mouth a fraction to hiss, "I'll kill you."

He chuckled. "I'd love to see you try. For now, relax. This will be enjoyable. It will have to be."

As he rubbed her thigh Hermione disconnected her mind from her body. She traveled back. She relived the memories she had been afraid to relive before.

_"Ron, concentrate!"_

_Across the room he scowled. "I'm trying, Hermione."_

_"Try harder!"_

_He swished his wand and she felt a tiny tug on her legs, not enough to bind them. She was becoming increasingly irritated. They were on their fifth day of practicing the leg-locker curse in a spare classroom. Ron managed to do it when he was at ease, but when she stressed him he couldn't come close, not making a full circle in his haste._

_"That was horrid," she scolded. "Here, let me show you how -"_

_"No! You've showed me a hundred times. I can do this."_

_She sighed resigned. "Then go on."_

_"Locomortis"_

_Her legs snapped together rigidly and she fell backwards on the pile of feathered pillows she gathered from the girls dormitory. "That was great, Ron!"_

_He beamed as she casted the counter-curse, loosening her legs._

Lestrange slid his hand under her blouse, past her waist reaching her ribs.

_Five in the morning Hermione woke to pack her trunk as she always did the last day of the school year. That one in particular being horrible, as bad as the previous one._

_While she was up she tip-toed out of her dormitory to the common room to check on the clothes she made for the Houselves. Specifically to see if they had disappeared like she hoped._

_Below was a skinny boy with messy raven hair sitting on the sofa bent at the waist staring into the dead hearth. If he heard her descend the stairs and join him he didn't acknowledge it. He didn't stir. She knew that he was thinking back when Sirius would appear in the flames, something he would never do again._

_"I miss him too," she said softly._

_He let out a strangled breath that caught in his throat, not quite a sob._

_Her heart went out to him. She took his hand in hers, linking their fingers. "I love you, Harry." It seemed necessary that she say it, that he knew._

_"I love you too, Hermione," he broke._

He felt the edges of her bra his weight compressing on her, making it hard to breathe.

_Diagon Alley's streets were coated in thick layers of white icing, the snow continuing to flutter down. Ahead she spotted a shop to buy a new set of tubes. Neville broke hers yesterday as he had leaned over his cauldron._

_"Oh, come on," she pleaded._

_"How about the Quid -"_

_"We can do that later," she interrupted Ron. "It's all the way down the street, and I need new tubes." She seized his and Harry's hands dragging them behind her._

_They groaned. "She needs a new life," Harry muttered sarcastically._

He cupped her right breast.

_"I don't know what to do. He doesn't notice me," Ginny complained._

_Hermione sat cross-legged on the camp bed watching as her friend ran her hand through her vivid red hair, plopping back down on her bed._

_"He notices you," she laughed. "But he would take more interest if you were yourself. You speak your mind around everyone but him. Give it a try."_

_"You're right. Do you think he will?"_

_"Of course. Harry's not blind."_

_"Thanks, Hermione," she yawned._

Gently, careful not to hurt her, he pinched.

_"It's okay," she comforted Neville who looked like he was about to have an anxiety attack. She looked over to Snape who was inspecting a Slytherin's cauldron. "We'll get it straighten out. Here, take this and this, stir twelve times counter-clockwise."_

_"You're a lifesaver, Hermione."_

_"No, I'm your friend."_

_"You're a good friend."_

He pressed his slimy lips to her brand. "So good," he moaned.

_Harry swooped catching the golden Snitch winning the game against Ravenclaw. The Gryffindor stands erupted in cheers jumping up and down._

_Hermione kissed Ron's cheek and Dean kissed hers. Neville patted her shoulder, and she turned to hug Seamus. Ginny squealed grasping her arm._

_"We won! We won!"_

_Luna grinned from the stands. "Ravenclaw put up a good fight but Gryffindor is for the win... Oh, look, a humming-june!"_

He licked her collar-bone. She thought she would vomit the acid burning in her stomach.

_She forgot everything. Her past, herself, her family, where she was at. All that mattered was that she didn't stop kissing Draco Malfoy. It was irrational to think she would suffocate without his lips on hers, but that's what it was like. She couldn't get enough of him, the silky feel, the warm taste, the arousing scent. She paid no notice that both of their shirts were missing._

"You're mine. All mine."

_"Have some adventure, dragon." She released him to walk a few steps further and bend down to scoop up a handful of snow. "Draco, have you ever had a snowball fight?"_

_"No," he said, and though she couldn't see his face she knew it was staring off into the sky his mind far off to another place. It was a perfect opportunity._

_"Oh, that's a shame."_

_"Why's that?"_

_"Because you'll never expect this!" She spun around seeing his confused expression that turned quickly to startle as she threw her the pact ball of snow right at his face where it flew apart in a rain of crystals caught by the sun._

She cried tears leaking from the crinkles of her eyes. She tried to hold on to her memories, the sweet memories that was slipping from her.

Then light exploded in the room causing sharp pains through the shield of her lids. "Sir" a rough voice called, "master, sir, there's a ruckus."

"Deal with it," he yelled.

"Sir, it's getting out of hand!"

Lestrange bent his mouth to her ear. "This isn't over."

His weight was off of her, and he was gone as was the light. She screamed knowing no one could hear her. She screamed out the hate and worry and fear. She screamed out of elation, not because he left but because the way the man had talked to him. She should've seen it before when Lestrange went to capture her himself. He wasn't as respected as Voldemort, wasn't as clever. There was a ruckus, when there would have never been such in the presence of Voldemort. It was hope brighter than she had seen since that night...


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter Nineteen

Failure

It could have been minutes or hours that Hermione was left there to endure the darkness and silence. She laid there motionless for Lestrange to come back. She didn't dare move as if afraid that he would sense her and come back.

She tried to avert her mind. She thought of her last moments with Draco. She thought of the Muggle card game she was teaching Ginny before that night. She thought of the way the wind felt on her cheeks when Draco saved her. She thought of anything and everything but of what was waiting for her as she was waiting for it.

It. It was appropriate, because Lestrange could hardly be counted for a human being less than a man. But he was a man. He was a horrible one but he was going to prove to her that he indeed was a man. He promised and even Death Eaters were keen on their promises especially when there was something in it for them.

The door opened, a stream of light falling on her, exposing her to whoever was at the door. She tried to roll over but her body ached, and in her embarrassment she stayed. If it was Lestrange he was going to do whatever he wanted to anyway.

It wasn't Lestrange, she could tell from the thudding boots on the stairs. She wondered who it was, but as she saw their figure staring into his hood she saw a glimmer of bone mask.

"Get up," the voice ordered.

She shook her head. She would rather die than follow their orders. And she just might. It wouldn't be so bad. That was why she was there.

"I said get up!" When she didn't obey the man groaned and grabbed her upper arm forcing her up.

Hermione wobbled unsteadily but he wasn't allowing her to fall. She tilted her head back staring into bone and sneered at him, copying the look perfectly from Draco. For added effect she gathered the little spit in her mouth and launched it on his cheek, or what would have been if not for the mask.

By his frozen state she could tell that she took him off guard, and she bent her foot back to kick him, but he shook her making her teeth rattle and fall, her knees almost colliding with the floor.

"Nice try," he mocked.

She was dragged along as he took her out of the room. _This is it_, she thought. Truly this was the time she was going to be murdered. She hoped for the pain that would come the only pain that would drive out the bad and good memories leaving her nothing but the pain that she deserved since that horrible night.

She was led through a dark hallway, a number of colorful curse words coming from the Death Eater in front of her.

"Where are you taking me," she demanded. She had nothing to lose, the only thing - person that mattered to her was long gone.

"To get you cleaned up. Master Lestrange doesn't want you unclean." He then muttered things that she couldn't understand, but she caught words like "Mudblood," clearly.

Suddenly he jerked her to a stop and shoved her through a doorway. "Call me when you're done, Mudblood."

There was light from a few brackets hanging on the walls, just enough where she could see and didn't need her eyes to adjust. There were cobwebs, dirt and grime, but these things were a moot point. She spotted a toilet and a tub. She sighed. If they were going to let her die clean, why rebuke them?

She undressed. At least this time, no one was watching her.

***

Out in the open without their cloaks Draco and Luna walked together, hand in hand. It was for safety sakes. If one of them spot anything suspicious it was easy to pull someone away when they already had a hold on them. So Draco held on to her as she led the way through the winding streets of high stone walls. Luna seemed to know where she was going though as far as he was concerned it was a maze where they were going to meet the monster that would destroy them.

"Are you sure this is a good idea," he asked her softly, glancing around again for shadows.

"We'll need all the help we can get," she whispered back.

There was that voice that told him how stupid they were being. Amazingly, it sounded like Hermione's voice.

They turned left, right, left again. He tried to keep a count in his head, but it was easily lost when Luna backtracked once with a innocent, "oops." He hoped that they would be able to find their way back out. Then again she could always apparate them to her flat.

Over and over he told himself that they were doing it for Hermione. He could team up with his past enemies to save her (again). He would do it because it was the only choice he had and he loved her enough to do it.

It wasn't that Luna was bad. In fact he found himself liking her more and more. He pictured her as the little sister that he never had nor wanted. He was content being an only child, the pride and joy of his parents eyes. He never shared well, but he found himself wishing that he did have a sibling. They could have stuck together they way him and Luna were doing then. He held her tighter.

They took another right and met a dead-end where a boy with sandy hair and a rough expression was standing, his wand in front of him. It was only until he spotted Luna that he lowered it, but he kept his eyes on Draco.

"You received my Patronus, Seamus?"

"Yeah, I did. It's still a hare." Finnigan spoke with a distinct and thick Irish accent. "Now to the proof. You're Luna Lovegood, you dated my best mate. He died," his voice broke on the last word.

Luna smiled serenely. "You're Seamus Finnigan. You took Dean's body to be buried in Point Cove. Thank you for that."

Finnigan's eyes brimmed with tears and he rushed forward as Luna broke Draco's contact to embrace him. They held each other and Draco felt a pain of longing for Hermione sting him and he looked away.

Then Finnigan let her go staring into her eyes. "Are you coming with me now?"

"Seam -"

"Please, Luna. You're the only connection I have to him. There aren't many of us left anymore. Please," he begged in a way that Draco would have considered pathetic if he hadn't known how desperate that plea was, and how familiar since he felt it for Hermione. He remembered how he pleaded with something higher for her to stay.

"I have something to tell you."

Worry casted over his abrasive features. "What is it?"

Luna stepped back beside Draco, and took his hand in her soft warm one again. "This is Ocard Regnarg."

His thick brows furrowed together in confusion. "Ocard? Who is he?"

"He's Draco Malfoy -"

"WHAT?!" Seamus whipped his wand up to aim straight at his chest.

Draco didn't blink, he didn't move. He had to trust Luna. He would trust her because there was no one else for him that was capable of helping him, but he came very close to taking out his own wand and sending a curse that would have had him shaking for days.

"It's quite a story," she told him, not a hint of trepidation in her voice. "We should go to my flat, we'll talk this over further." She held out her hand as he glared doubtfully at him. "It's okay," she added, "he won't harm us. He needs us."

Seamus stared at her hand as if taking it would be his biggest regret. He took it nonetheless giving a lethal look to Draco who couldn't help but smile in return.

They were going to get Hermione back.

***

Hermione slipped on her shirt as the Death Eater outside of the bathroom pounded on the door. It shook threatening to fall in.

"You better get out here Mudblood! I'm warning you!"

She entertained the idea of staying. They couldn't hurt her not without hurting themselves in return, but what was the protocol if they attempted to kill her? Would it rebound or would it not count as pain at all? What if she pushed her luck to the limit?

"Come out here or I'm getting Master!"

"Get your Master," she yelled back.

The door swung open crashing on the wall causing a hunk of plaster to fall beside her. She didn't flinch. Pain was nothing she decided. She wanted pain, if she was hit by anything it was what she would take.

She couldn't see his covered face, but she could feel the fury off of him. It vibrated in the small room.

"You have a death wish, Mudblood," he hissed at her.

"Yes, I do. What're you going to do about it?"

He took a step, then halted. His breath became ragged, intense. "I was ordered not to kill you. Don't press your luck."

She took a step forward as well. There was a part of her that recognized that she was in danger, her self-preservation that kept her alive. She ignored it, she had to if she was going to get what she wanted.

"Go on, kill me."

The Death Eater raised his wand, but he cursed and shoved it inside of his robe. He grabbed her gently by the scruff of her neck and pushed her ahead of him.

Her gut dropped. She failed. She failed to die, something that came so easy for many people, so many had it met to them without asking, and though she was begging it didn't come.

Hermione couldn't remember failing at anything in life so fully as she was failing at death. It didn't seem fair.

He guided her through the door into the cellar and down the stairs. When they reached the last landing he felt safe enough to let her go, only pushing her slightly. It didn't so much as cause her to stumble.

He pointed a long finger at a bowl. "Milk," was all he said as he turned on his heel and left the way they came.

Hermione went over and without looking inside, she kicked the bowl over, the white streams flowing through the cracks. She dropped to her knees and as disappointment settled she waited.


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter Twenty

Then There Was Him

Lestrange didn't come back. Hermione wanted to question why. Was it because he found Draco? That he lost interest? She didn't want to know those things though. It was better not to know. It was like being unaware of how many days were passing or if it was just a very long one.

She couldn't be certain how hungry she was supposed to be, her stomach was past hurting. Just like in those cells... Except she did get a ration of spoiled milk and raw chicken all of which she didn't eat but let sit in the corner and rot. Like herself.

Hermione's bounds were cut. She didn't remember it, she must've been asleep, but when she woke she stretched, her bones complaining on the hard stone. She should've stood and walked, but instead she curled herself into a ball. She let the misery carry her through.

For however long it was she waited. She took her bathroom breaks as allotted, but when she returned to her room she curled up on her spot. She wanted death more than anything. More than food, more than freedom, and more than Draco. If she was dead, she wouldn't need any of those things.

The familiar light swept across her. Hermione didn't move. Even as uncomfortable as she was she didn't dare increase the constant ache she felt. She had come to the conclusion that she would rather rot. Staying where she was at was easy, easier than walking to her death or anything she might do, or would be made to do.

Heavy footsteps ascended next to her stopping beside her head, a pair of green scaled dragon boots in front of her. She closed her eyes. She waited as she had been doing since the murder of her family.

"Get up," the Death Eater ordered in a whining voice.

"Make me," she responded knowing he would.

Sure enough he snatched the back of her shirt pulling her roughly to her feet. She stumbled slightly, too weak to put up a fight or to walk. So she was dragged across the room, her legs scrambling to keep up, and was thrown through the door.

She expected to be pushed through the bathroom door at any moment, but that moment didn't come. It took thirty steps from the cellar to the bathroom, and she had taken fifty-two. She opened her eyes, and blinked rapidly into the brightening light. He was taking her someplace else. Maybe this was it. This was when she'd die. She wished she had the energy to run, for she'd be running into that light.

The second she stepped into the expansive lounge full of over sixty Death Eaters there was jeering. It roared and rebounded off of the thick walls. In the midst of them at his proper place was Lestrange in his green velvet robe, his hands together his wand between them, his grin wide.

She was right. This was it. This was her death.

The Death Eater holding her pushed her forward to her knees. There was the pain that shot through her, down her shins. She winced, but didn't cry out. She would die with honor, like her family, she would be worthy of the death she was being granted.

"I'm sorry I didn't get to have my piece of you, dear Ms. Granger. I ran out of time. Lots to do, you know." He chuckled at his own sick joke.

Hermione wrinkled her nose in distaste refusing to imagine what would have happened if he did have the time. She refused to let that be her last thought.

Lestrange slowly put the point of his wand at her forehead.

When a person felt death's breath there was supposed to be flashing images of their life. Hermione Granger heard about that. She was experiencing that, seeing who she loved most in the world. She saw her family, laughing, joking, happy. Her parents, the Weasley's, and Harry, Lupin, Tonk's, and Sirius. Luna and Neville. They were all together.

Then there was him. The pointed-face, bouncing ferret of Slytherin. The pain in her arse for seven years. Him in that train sneering at her, him picking on first-years, him making snide comments, him calling her a Mudblood, him staggering by her hand, him smiling, him hugging her, him kissing her... Him... Him... Him... Sweet bitterness fell on her at those moments fresh and real.

Then her flesh ripped itself from her body. She fell, she screamed, but she was happy. He was safe and gone.

She should have known he would be her love. The place where her heart remained intact.

There was Hermione Granger. Then there was Draco Malfoy.

***

"Anyone else," Draco asked coldly taking his gaze off of Finnigan (who glared back) to look over to Luna.

She had just explained his story with no commentary from him. He wished he had said something, it sounded worse coming from her. He could barely believe that what she described - what they had gone through - was that terrible. They had survived a lot. Experiences such as their should have ended their life in some form or another, but there they were...

Finnigan used to glare at him because they hated each other. This time it was because of Draco's love for Hermione. He yelled, he banged his fists against the table. He told him how he didn't deserve her, that they shouldn't be together. He brought out his wand and Luna unexpectedly snatched it from him. She reminded him that Hermione was alive because of Draco and when he plopped back in his chair he was handed his wand back. Shockingly he didn't try to curse him, he placed it back in his pocket. Well, it wasn't that surprising, Finnigan had to have some gratitude towards his enemy for saving her. That didn't mean he was happy that it was him.

"No," she said airily stretching her arms in front of her after she had pocketed her wand from changing his hair and face back to normal, no longer the color and shape Hermione had arranged it. "There's no one left. Is there, Seamus?"

"No," he answered gruffly, or perhaps it was gruff after hearing Luna's light voice. "They're all dead. Dean, Neville, Lavander, the Patil twins... me and Hermione are the only Gryffindors left from our year..."

"There are other years," Draco pointed out harshly wondering how stupid this man was. Luna despite her oddities and beliefs was a very smart Witch. How did she come to be friends with him?

"Most of them are dead too. The Creevey brothers..."

"You said most... Not all. Who else is left?"

"I don't know," he snapped, "who hasn't your mates killed?"

Fire erupted in Draco starting from his chest traveling to his face. He stood up, the chair falling to a loud thud behind him, his hands slamming down on the table. "They're _not_ my mates, you - "

"Easy," Luna soothed, her hand on his arm. "Easy. Seamus, be nice. We're in this together."

Draco breathed through his nose, and turned his chair right side up and sat down. He couldn't kill the people that were going to help him save Hermione. Hermione was the only reason Finnigan was still sitting there glowering at him with just as much loathing as he was sending back.

"Who else is alive? Anyone?"

"Katie Bell... Maybe... No one has seen her and we haven't seen her in the _Prophet_," he said the word with hatred, "so we can assume she's alive. We just don't know where she is... Cormac is dead... Angelina and Alicia, Oliver..." He bent his head down his tone becoming stronger. "Romilda, Kirke... Jordan..."

"Anyone in other Houses?"

"I mentioned the twins, one of them was in Ravenclaw," he said defensively.

He groaned impatiently. "Any other Houses?"

"Have you not kept in touch with the rest of the world? Don't you know anyone?"

"Don't you know that I've been in hiding -"

"We all have -"

"I've been hated from the other Houses and most of my own House since I first came to Hogwarts - that hasn't changed!"

Luna calmly leaned over putting a hand on each of their shoulders. He barely realized how hard he was breathing, how Finnigan was bending closer to him, their voices raising to yells.

They all relaxed, sitting back in their chairs. Luna acted as though nothing happened, her eyes wandering to a cobweb in the corner of the ceiling.

"As for Ravenclaw, Roger Davies died too... Saving his wife," she said.

"Wife," Finnigan asked, startled.

"What was there to lose to by sharing a union?"

He shrugged. "Who else?"

"Anthony, Jason, Jeremy, Lisa, Raymond, Eddie, Cho, Michael... A lot are dead in Hufflepuff too... Bones and Macmillian."

Draco threw up his hands. He didn't want to discuss who died. For one it would have taken all night, and for second it dwindled his hope. It was hope that was keeping him going. "Who's _alive_?"

"Most Slytherins," Finnigan mumbled.

Draco wanted to ignore that. He really did want to. He didn't. "That isn't true. Loads of them are dead too."

He rolled his eyes. "Like who?"

"Theodore Nott..." He clenched his fists on the table, Luna covering one with hers. That was one thing they didn't know. He didn't tell Luna about that part, about his plan to take Hermione's memory and the back-up plan to take his own if things went wrong.

"He was your friend, wasn't he," she asked.

He closed his eyes, but nodded. A crack formed in his chest thinking of his best mate. "We all lost people. I'm no different. Please, lets just think of a way to get Hermione out. _Please._"

There must have been something there in his face. Something desperate, because Finnigan wouldn't look at him and neither would Luna.

"Terry... He's alive... I don't know where he is..."

"Look" Finnigan said, placing his hands flat on the table. "Too many are dead, and those that are alive we have no idea where they are. We can't spend months looking for them. We don't even have days."

"We don't have hours," Draco added.

That was when it happened. His shoulder burned, the skin tearing itself away from his muscle, the bone. There was a crash somewhere, his hip hurt. He realized several beats late that he had fallen from the chair, and that noise was his screaming.

"Draco..."

"Malfoy?"

He squeezed his eyes shut blocking their worried visages out as they bent over him. He wheezed pulling in a lungful of air. "Hermione," he gasped the burning cooling only in the slightest before flaring again. _No, no, no..._

"What," Finnigan demanded.

Luna held his hand. "He branded her," she answered knowingly.

He looked over and saw that she had slipped his robe to the side showing his shoulder, a red mark the design of his family crest in the same place her brand was. It wasn't there of course, it was the spell.

"Sick bast -"

"No," Luna interrupted him. "It was smart. He knows now when she's being...." She shook her head. "There might be time. They'll be dying too..." As she said this, his brand cooled completely, and he fell apart.

He cried hot tears, his heart being torn from his chest, the pain unbearable. The burning was nothing compared to what he was feeling, what he knew to be true. "Too late... She's...." He couldn't finish the sentence. Instead he declared, "I'll kill them. I'll kill every one of them!"

His lioness... His love... She was... And it was his fault for he left her there... In the end... He would die too... It didn't seem like such a bad idea then... He understood why it was appealing to her all that time... He finally understood... And it was too late... He lost her...


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter Twenty-One

Princess

Time... It seemed silly to worry about such a thing then, but it didn't stop Draco from hurrying. He hurried to his feet, he hurried righting his robe, he hurried putting on his cloak. He only had one answer to his insanity that made him sound sane and that was to get her body. It was mangled, he probably wouldn't recognize that it was her, but he had to have her, to give her a proper burial. If not for what she deserved than for what Draco wanted beyond reason. All those thoughts were stakes in his chest but it was the closest he could come to admitting what he knew happened.

"We're coming with you," Luna told him swinging her canary yellow cloak around her, Finnigan doing the same with his red one.

He shook his head. "It's too late."

"Do you think they're all dead?"

"Depends on how many tried." He lost count last night. His shoulder flared many times. He had escaped Luna and Finnigan after the second time to a spare bedroom where he bit his cheek to keep from screaming as he rolled on the floor after falling from the bed. He could still taste the copper in his mouth. All he knew was that many were dead from the attempt. Surely she was too from the pain it caused her.

Finnigan held open the door to the dim-lited hallway. "Lets go see."

As Luna went to pass him he reached out and grabbed her arm stopping her, her expression blank. He looked from one of Hermione's friends to the only one they shared together. "I'm not risking you two. They'll torture us on sight."

Finnigan grinned smugly. "Oh, coming around to me now, eh, Malfoy?"

"No," he said quickly. "Definitely not. I'm only protecting you for Hermione."

"You said Hermione was -"

"I did not say that -" He didn't even want to hear that.

"But you think that -"

"Stop it," Luna nearly begged, Draco in-taking a needed breath. "Lets just go. We know what we're doing, Draco. Let us fight for her too."

He growled. If her friends got killed... They were his last responsibility. He had to keep them alive for her. She had lost too many people. She didn't know it, but they were all she had left. If he let them die, he would be blamed. She would never forgive him... Even in such a crucial situation would he think about himself.

They stood there calmly waiting, their cloaks on, Finnigan's hand still on the doorknob. They were expectant, determined.

Draco shook his head in defeat. They were all going to die anyhow, even if all the Death Eaters there at the mansion were dead, there were more to take their place, to take a leaders place. That was how the new world worked. It already proved itself once. "Fine. It's your heads."

***

Bodies... That's what surrounded Hermione in the lounge. She sat in the midst of them. Lestrange and the others. She pulled her knees to her chest, her lips to her knees, rocking back and forth shaking madly.

She killed them. All of them. She thought back to what happened, flinching as she did so, but she had to remember. She lived therefore she had to remember.

_"I'm sorry I didn't get to have my piece of you, dear Ms. Granger. I ran out of time. Lots to do, you know." He chuckled at his own sick joke._

_Hermione wrinkled her nose in distaste refusing to imagine what would have happened if he did have the time. She refused to let that be her last thought._

_Lestrange slowly put the point of his wand at her forehead._

_Then her flesh ripped itself from her body. She fell, she screamed. She heard the Death Eaters cry out in joy. But it didn't last for long, only a mere second. Then things took a drastic turn as Hermione felt her mind and body slipping from her._

_Red light exploded in the room with a resounding boom. Lestrange was knocked off his feet. Everyone froze watching their leader hitting the far wall crashing in a heap on the floor, his arm trapped awkwardly beneath his chest, surely broken._

_It took the Death Eaters thirteen seconds to point their wands at her after their leader had fallen. Hermione knew this because she was counting in her head. She used it as a distraction from what she was witnessing, because she didn't want what she was seeing to be true. She was supposed to be dead, that was the plan, but she had no idea, she didn't come up with theories like the old Hermione would have, she didn't go through the hundreds of names of books listed in her head to come up with possible solutions as to what would happen against such a spell as what had been placed on her._

_She cursed Draco, but immediately regretted it. She had finally come to terms with everything. The death of her family, her own to-be death, and the realization she had when she come to terms with loving Draco that she didn't want to die. Tears, those all-too familiar tears streaked down her face sliding down her chin and neck._

_"Kill me," she ordered to the Death Eaters surrounding her._

_Green. The same emerald green that flashed in front of her at the Battle of Hogwarts, the basement of the Weasley home, and there it was again. She felt the strikes against her chest, her mind, attempting to shut them down. She held on, her nails digging into the floor beneath her. She would stay. She made that decision. She _wanted_ to stay. For Draco. For her family. When had she decided that? She didn't know and what did it matter? She was staying._

_Each of the spells took her breath away, nearly blowing her to bits. She felt her spirit trying to leave, the blows nearly knocking her out of the world she was adamant about staying in. For one person. She had been foolish to think she had nothing to live for. She wouldn't leave him._

_"NO!" She screamed focusing on her weakening heart._

_One body... Two.... Three... They were all falling. She forced her eyes to open, to allow the green to reflect in them. She smiled. One by one. Two by two. She laughed, her heart skipping a beat. Just like her family, they were dying._

_Then she was alone. And she cried from the shock. She lived. For him._

Hermione held onto that thought. Her heart beat it's regular beat. She was able to think, to contemplate. She was able to feel. She was alive. No one was going to harm her, but she kept her eyes on Lestrange, flitting back and forth from the others to him just in case the battle wasn't over.

She waited for her love to rescue her. Just like a princess would of her prince.

***

The Malfoy Manor (that's what it used to be called) stood tall, dark, and proud against the darkening purple sky. It was five stories with turrets like a mini-castle behind a wrought iron gate which was designed in snakes. It hadn't changed since Draco was last there... When he saw his parents...

"We didn't come up with a plan," Finnigan said obviously.

Draco rolled his eyes. "No kidding... You two kept focusing on our classmates deaths instead of finding a way to get her out."

"Before you started screaming like a girl."

He spun on him, but Luna reached out grasping his arm pulling him towards her. "Should we think of a plan now?"

He calmed himself turning his back on the Gryffindor to face the Ravenclaw. "We don't have time."

"So we just barge in there? That ought to do it," he commented sarcastically.

Luna held his gaze and quickly said, "wait a second, Seamus," before he could make a snide comment. Draco nearly smiled. "We have time. Can you think of nothing? You used to live here."

"We go in there, and we kill as many as we can. Avoid a bushy-headed woman, okay?" He glowered at Finnigan. "Got that?"

"Got it, _git_."

He chose to ignore the pointed statement and started up the pebbled walkway. He strolled past the tall hedges shaped like snakes that gave them light out of their jewel eyes. It was winding and he heard Finnigan making a few more remarks that he again chose to ignore. They had a job to do and he could be the mature one for a few hours. When he got Hermione out he would curse Finnigan. If they lived that is.

They went under the awning shielding themselves in darkness. He pushed open the door and with wands held high, they crossed the threshold into the fire-lit lounge.

From the steady light of the sinking sun to the flickering room his eyes had to adjust. He squinted them seeking out the danger he was sure to be there. But he was greeted with the last sight he expected.

Death Eaters he didn't care to count (Luna and Finnigan were already making their rounds to them) was lying in a circle around a shaking figure. He took in the frizzy brown hair, and immediately lowered his wand rushing to her side his heart flying from him. He dropped to his knees, disregarding the pain because frankly he didn't feel it. What he did feel was her soft hair, the skin of her elbow. He touched her not able to get enough, but not holding her for fear she was hurt.

"Hermione, love, Hermione it's me, Draco."

She looked up from her arms staring at him blankly. It was as though she didn't recognize him. His gut sank.

He took her clammy face between his hands. "It's me. Hermione, my lioness, it's me." There was a mad rush in him for her to see, but he suddenly realized that maybe his first assumption of her death wasn't too far off.

Draco took a good look around the lounge. There was the Death Eaters, some with their masks blown to bits beside them, others had fallen off, all revealing their shocked and fearful faces. Goyle, Crabbe, Rowle, Travers, and Macnair, and many others. He even spotted his uncle against the far wall, broken and clearly dead. Each one of them had tried to kill Hermione and in return had killed themselves.

A complicated spell on a ring burned into someone couldn't stop a spell such as Avada Kedavra. Nothing could stop it. Unless you were Potter, of course and even it had caught up with him. How could Hermione have survived? Especially when death was what she wanted so badly? What had happened?

"Please speak," he begged, his voice breaking through. "Speak to me damn it."

By this time Luna and Finnigan had joined them sitting on the other side of her. They both carried worried expressions, Finnigan's was almost angry.

"What's wrong with her?"

Luna's voice was weaker than usual as she spoke. "Possibly shock... This has never happened before... Not quite like this..."

Draco didn't take his sights off of Hermione. He waited impatiently as her eyes focused on him. She opened her mouth a fraction as his heart sped and he froze.

"I love you, dragon." She lifted her trembling hands to his cheekbones. "Don't cry."

He didn't realize that he was indeed crying. For the first time in his life he was crying out of happiness. He felt as though he'd burst with it. He wanted to tell her so much, that he loved her, that he was happy she was alive, that he loved her, that he missed her, that he loved her. He didn't say any of it though. He clasped his arms around her, holding her close to him as his tears wet her hair and hers his shoulder.

Finnigan and Luna were shouting in jubilation, hugging each other, patting Hermione's back.

She pulled from his embrace turning slightly to be wrapped in her friend's arms. Draco didn't take his hands off of her though, he kept them on her waist protectively.

She sat back on her heels leaning her back against this chest. She wiped her tears away speaking strongly sending a ray of hope into him.

"You're here! Seamus, Luna! Ah, I've missed you two so much! I thought..." She sniffed.

"We all thought everyone was dead," Finnigan told her sadly though the smile hadn't left his face. "We're glad we found you."

Draco kissed her cheek. "How," he asked to no one in particular. "The spell, it should have..." He still couldn't finish that sentence.

Luna beamed. "The spell you used, Draco, was very awful. It wasn't made to be used for good. But it has, and it had good effects. Your love protected her. She must have chose for it to for that was the last bit for that single powerful spell to be rebounded."

Finnigan flinched in revulsion at that idea of Draco's love having any good part in their rescue mission. His happiness at finding his friend alive hadn't softened his attitude against Draco.

"Like Lily protected Harry," Hermione said softly. Draco noticed that she held their hands squeezing them.

"You and Harry have had good luck against that curse," Finnigan chuckled darkly.

That brought Draco back from his time on cloud nine, the ice cold feeling of how many death's Hermione should have suffered. He stood up, bringing her with him, Finnigan and Luna following suit. "Lets not push our luck then, shall we?"

Luna grasped Finnigan's hand tugging him towards the door. "We'll go check outside then."

Finnigan looked like he would rather do anything but leave them two alone.

Hermione twisted in his arms gazing up at him with the clearest look she had every had since her families deaths.

He ran his fingers through her hair, he inhaled her scent, muted under the dirt and sweat. She was alive. She was safe. That was more than he could have asked for. To have her be the old Hermione he knew was overload. Certainly he hadn't done anything in his life that should earn him such a reward. So he had to know.

"Why did you stay?"

She sighed her fingertips trailing down his neck. "You."

"Why?"

"Because you were right. Your path was obstructed from mine. Our paths were natural, we were supposed to be, but... Things got in our way. And..." She touched her nose to his. "I want you."

Too good to be true. It had to be a dream of some sort, but he didn't dare try to wake. He would take this dream and be unconscious forever.

***

Hermione brushed her lips against his a contrast to the bruises he was likely causing on her waist, and the bruises she had to be causing around his neck. A breath of fresh air, a breath she felt like she hadn't took since seeing her friends.

Her friends. How sweet were those words. Seeing Seamus and Luna was seeing part of her family alive once more. She had thought them dead. If Harry and Ron were dead, then no one good could have survived, but they did, and it was surreal how Hermione felt. Happiness didn't cover it.

They had changed since their Hogwarts days. Luna had a prominent scar over her left brow, and one in the shape of a 'c' on her right cheek. Yet she continued to glow ethereally, her smile just as radiant.

Seamus had many scars on his face. They dominated his visage, giving him a mangled look, and one could barely recognize him, but the picture in her mind matched closely enough with his sweet brown eyes and friendly smile. He was still Seamus.

Draco had brought her the best gift. How he did it, she didn't know nor care. Right then she had more than she had the right to ask for when all she wanted from a few hours ago was him.

The kiss couldn't have lasted long for her taste, but it was only a second before loud footsteps sounded behind Draco making them spin towards the door.

Seamus and Luna both out of breath halted in the archway. They were saying the same thing. "Get out. They're here. Get out."

Hermione understood quickly. There were more Death Eaters. There was supposed to be a celebration that night, she should have known, because the killing of Hermione Granger, the last of the Golden Trio would be a cause of celebration.

"We'll handle them," Luna said in her naturally calm voice. "They're outside the gate, we're prepared -"

"Just go," Seamus interrupted. "They'll be looking for you."

"We'll do this together," She squeaked. She couldn't stop fighting when there were more. As long as there were Death Eaters around she would continue fighting. It was her duty. She looked desperately up to Draco and for a moment she thought he wouldn't consent, that he would apparate them both away.

He nodded in agreement, but then she turned a second later...

One second... One second could change everything. They would never know her friend's argument to their declaration for Seamus and Luna's features were wiped clean of emotion, a green flash behind them, and they fell to the floor, shadows in the darkness of the hedges beyond.

There had to be noise. Screams, threats, the roaring in her ears, but she heard nothing. The world had been muted, and everything fell away and her heart had been ripped out in front of her. It was happening all over again, and though she knew the ending she remained helpless to change it.

Hermione ran forward. She didn't hear her footsteps or Draco's protests. She crumpled between her friend's lifeless bodies. She grasped their arms, looked up to Draco who swam in her vision, but her voice was steady, she could feel that.

"I won't leave them!"

He bent next to her quickly as another green flash shot above him. He grabbed her shoulder and before he turned Hermione saw something that shocked her.

Draco, her dragon, was crying. This time in their shared grief.


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter Twenty-Two

For Life, For Death

Hermione carrying Luna and Draco carrying Seamus escaped using a Wizard's pub's fireplace catching little to no attention from the drunken customers. She let him drag her along to Athens, through the maze-like streets to a flat. Luna's flat.

It was poorer than the Weasley's home. It looked like she hadn't put forth any magic to make it better. The brown flowered wallpaper was torn, the floorboards creaked loudly, a fighting couple could clearly be heard through the thin walls. There was a mouse that scurried along. He seemed to be following her, but she moved in a daze.

They laid Seamus and Luna on the floor and Draco left Hermione in the lounge. She could see him rummaging in the fridge bringing out a pitcher of what looked to be lemonade. He got glasses. He cleaned them under the tap. Twice. Not once did he use his wand.

They hadn't spoken once. Whether the silence was due to shock or respect... She didn't know, but she liked it. She didn't want to talk about it. Not then. Soon she would have to, just like she would soon have to look at her friends.

Intently she watched her steps towards a room with a cot, a trunk with Luna's name on it, and a mural.

Her eyes followed the swift designs and colors. Then she looked at the bigger picture of a skinny man with thick glasses, another with big hands, a third with a toad on his shoulders, a woman with a large sparkling smile and vivid hair like the second man, and the last person, a woman with bushy hair. Harry, Ron, Neville, Ginny, and her. All together. All happy.

She didn't know how she knew, but she knew that four out of the five had been dead with the picture was painted. Luna knew and yet she carried them with her through her artwork.

Hermione took three steps and collapsed on the cot. It smelled of Marigolds, of Luna. It had been only hours that she was lying there alive and now she was dead in her lounge. She bit her trembling lip, she swallowed her screams. She remembered their fall, their last words. She clutched her stomach like she had when she lost her family.

_Their dead_ she told herself. _They're not coming back._ She had to face it. She wouldn't be in denial again. She wouldn't hurt Draco. They would have to live because living was obviously what they were supposed to be doing for the ones they lost.

***

It was never going to end. The murders, the hurt, everything would be against them. The bad side won, and it wouldn't relinquish its hold. Potter lost therefore everyone else lost. The stupid, stupid, git.

Draco held the glass in his hand. He was going to pour lemonade for him and Hermione. Not that it would make anything better. No, their world was destroyed. There was nothing that was going to _fix_ that.

To think he had liked Luna and that Finnigan bloke would have grown on him eventually. They could have all lived together. If only they had moved fast enough. Why did they want to stay to fight? Why did all those DA members insist on _fighting_ what had been lost? They deserved what it got them.

He clenched the glass causing a fault line in the rim. Then he threw it to the wall letting it shower the kitchen. He took the other from the sink and threw it too. Glitters all around him from the moon shining in. He took the pitcher and threw it, but it was plastic, and it bounced rolling on the floor.

The couple next door was fighting. They were screaming in a foreign language he didn't know. Draco screamed back.

"Shut up! Shut _up!_ For Merlin's sakes shut the hell up! You argue endlessly!" He ran into the lounge past the bodies of the people he could have came to love and pounded his fist on the wall feeling the forming of contusions on the soft part of his hands. "Do you hear me? I told you to shut up! Quit your inane arguing, you idiotic Muggles!" He didn't have to know the language to know that what they were fighting about was stupid and senseless, but it didn't make him any less angry. In fact it spurred him on. They had nothing to be miserable about. They had nothing on the pain of him and Hermione. "Idiots!"

Something warm pressed on his back, soft hands covering his fists on the wall, a breath in his ear. "It's okay, Draco."

He leaned his head against the wall hissing through his teeth. Had she gone insane too? Did she remember what she had witnessed and if she had, wasn't she seeing the bodies beside them? "How can you say that?"

"Because I carry them with me. Draco, this isn't the end. I thought it was for a long time, but it isn't. They're dead and though their death was horrible and tragic they're at peace."

"When did you learn this?"

"I saw it on a wall," she whispered to him, not making a bit of sense. "We have each other, Draco."

"Until we're murdered too."

She rested her head on his shoulder. He softened then, kissing her nose, but she didn't open her eyes. "Maybe... But we'll fight them. Together."

He felt thoroughly frustrated. "We'll die in attempt to avenge them, Hermione."

"You said we'd be murdered. We'll die with honor."

He laughed without humor. Dying with honor sounded ridiculous in his opinion. It was not as though there would be monuments in their name. Their deaths would be wasted when there was no chance that they would win. "Okay," he gave in, as he had and would every time with her. "We'll fight."

"First, there's a couple of things I want to do."

Intrigued, he turned around, his back to the wall linking their fingers together between them. "What's that?"

"I want to give Luna and Seamus a proper burial."

"Consider it done." He had already made up his mind. He was going to be sure that they were buried. What would they have done with their bodies anyhow?

"I want to meet the Muggles next door."

He rose a brow at the odd request. "Why?"

"Because you said they argue endlessly. I think while we're alive, we should do as much good as we can. They shouldn't live their lives so miserably."

Goodness how he loved this senseless woman. "I can give you one reason why we shouldn't, and another of why we can't."

She smirked feeling a challenge from him. "Go on."

"We shouldn't be butting into other people's business. I know you can't help yourself," she rolled her eyes at that, "but it's not right. Second of all is we don't speak Greek."

She pecked his lips snaking her arms around his neck. "Since I can't help myself, I will. As for your second reason, it's invalid. I speak Greek."

He shook his head wondering if he heard her right. She spoke Greek? Did that mean she understood what they were yelling at through the wall? "Since when?"

"Draco, my parents were... Muggle versions of Healers. We did have money. We did go on vacations. I do speak a couple of languages myself."

"You never cease to amaze me," he told her truthfully. She did amaze him with her strength, her mind. He wished for one moment that he was able to read her mind, figure out how it worked. One moment only. He had quite enough for even a selfish person like him. He had her heart, more than he expected, but exactly what he hoped for.

Her smile faded, her eyes leading over to her friend's. She wiggled out of his embrace then to kneel beside them.

Their eyes were open, blue-green and brown, unseeing at the ceiling. Hermione slid her hands over them closing their lids. She picked up their hands folding them across their stomachs. A single tear fell from her cheek.

"They look peaceful, don't they?"

"Yes," he assured her, "they do."

"Where will be bury them?"

Draco had thought this part through as well. "There's an abandoned Wizard graveyard. I'll find stones to put their names on in the morn."

"Could you put something on their stones for me?"

"Anything."

"Hero's."

"That's all?"

"That's what they were."

"Yes," he agreed.

Draco kept his distance at the wall observing the love of his life mourning over her friends, each of them different, all with the same goal. Suddenly he felt out of place, interfering on her time with them, stealing her solitude which he had done for so long.

However, as he turned to go, he saw something he hadn't took notice to before. Her clothing. He expected her to be mangled when he found her, so the dirt on the jeans and shirt he bought for her was nothing less than what his obstinate mind had conjured up. Now that he really saw it, there was something out of place. The rip in her shirt. How? No, that was inappropriate at the time, he could ask her later, but before he could leave, she looked up.

"Draco? What's wrong?"

He had to ask. She would never let him go otherwise. "What happened to your shirt?"

She looked down fingering the ripped seam. "Oh, I can't remember... It must have torn when I fell. I fell in the cellar."

_Lie,_ he thought angrily, but he smoothed his face too fast for her to catch. Something told him that he didn't want to know what really happened, and whatever that was, Hermione wasn't ready to tell him.

"Oh..."

"I'll clean up later." She casted her gaze down to her friends.

"Right... I'll be in the spare room. I'll set up an extra camp bed."

"Thank you."

"Anytime, lioness." Anytime was right. They were in this together, for life, for death.


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter Twenty-Three

Hero's

Draco would never admit the truth to Hermione. As far as she needed to be in the know of Draco had "found" the stones. That was partially the truth. The whole truth was that he found the stones in a Muggle graveyard. Purposefully. With a bit of magic the names, "Aaron Otis" and "Elene Otis" was erased and the names "Seamus Finnigan" and "Luna Lovegood" was written. With the information from Hermione he wrote their birth-dates along with their death-dates, and he wrote in the best handwriting "hero's" as instructed.

Hermione stayed in the flat cleaning Finnigan's and Luna's clothing as well as using transfiguration to change them completely. For Luna it was a silky blue dress, and Seamus in a scarlet robe. She did their shoes the same, dying them to match their outfits. She was busy brushing their hair when Draco had left.

For her, he waited in the unnamed Wizard graveyard. By the look of the knee-high grass and weeds, the old stones stained brown with age, it hadn't been used in many years.

He inspected each stone for a name. Some were too faded to make out. Others he had never heard of. It was Greek after all, yet if there was another couple like him and Hermione, escaping the prosecution in England, perhaps they would recognize two names. Then again, how often did that sort of thing happen? At least once was the answer.

There was a pop near the gate, Hermione appearing in front of two neatly dug holes, Luna's wand before her hovering her friends in mid-air. She laid them gently on the ground. There were wet streaks on her cheeks.

Draco hurried over and took her in his arms. He rubbed circles on her lower back with his fingers. "Are you ready for this," he asked in her ear.

"I'll never be ready for this, but it has to be done."

He understood that. He wasn't ready to run from Voldemort and Lestrange, but he did, because he had to. "Then lets do it."

Hermione stood back as Draco lifted Finnigan with his wand hovering him over the unkempt ground and setting him into the first hole, then Luna into the second, their stolen headstones already in place above them. The cool wind picked up, blowing his hair across his eyes, he turned and saw Hermione's clean and mended clothes billowing as well, her hair pulled tightly into a clip at the base of her neck.

He flicked his wand at the pile of dirt next to the graves, and dropped them in, covering up his love's friends. It was done as simple as that. It shouldn't have been that simple. There should have been loads of people around to grieve, to say something for the two, but all the people that should have been there was instead greeting them.

It was hard to think – but he did – that him and Hermione wouldn't have this. They wouldn't have a burial. They had no one to take care of their bodies. For himself, he wasn't sure he cared. But for Hermione... She deserved to have "hero" written on her stone. And yet, she wouldn't, and she is and would always be. How unfair life was to them, how strange it was that he was adjusting to it.

He returned his wand to his back pocket stepping back taking Hermione's hand in his.

She smiled. "You know, Harry and Ron hated me when we first met. They thought I was an interfering, bossy, know-it-all." Her smile grew wider. "They were right. They still are. I am. I didn't get along with Luna either. For the longest time we were at odds." She looked up at him seeing that he remained looking down at her. "There's not many people that I've gotten along with at start. Except Neville, but he needed my help in Potions," she laughed.

"What's your point, love?" He knew she was getting at something.

"Eventually Harry and Ron came to love me. So did Luna. Maybe this is our time. It took nine years, but here we are."

He kissed her hair. Honey and lilac. No matter what shampoo she had those two mixture of scents remained teasing him with their sweetness. "Here we are," he muttered. "I'm sorry I took so long, love." If he hadn't been such a git all those years they could have had just that... Years. He would have taken her to the ball, have studied with her in the library. Curse him for thinking such, but perhaps in result he would have tolerated Potter and Weasley.

"I'm sorry it had to be this path." She leaned up and kissed his lips. She then walked from his side to stand in front of the new graves. "I really am sorry," she said, this time not speaking to him.

Draco wished he was able to paint as well as Luna, for he longed to paint the scene he was seeing. A beautiful woman in old clothes in an ancient graveyard, grass covering her shins, standing in the insistent wind looking down at two new graves steady tears leaking down her chin. It was sadly beautiful.

He held out his hand. "Come, lioness."

Without wiping her tears, she took his hand and they left her friends be.

***

Instead of finding an empty alleyway to apparate they walked, in no hurry to be to Luna's flat, especially Draco who rather eat nails than help out someone else. Someone else that wasn't her it appeared.

She took this time to see the locals. The citizens walked by, oblivious to them, their eyes holding a far-off expressions, possibly going over fights with lovers, groceries to pick up, their daily routine. They were normal, not knowing of the danger that laid with them because of their blood, what was happening in other countries. They were blissfully unaware and it was refreshing to see and at the same time, sad.

Draco and her were alone. More than ever. Seamus and Luna was the last of her friends. She wasn't lucky enough for more to be hidden. No, they were truly gone. She was the last of the young Gryffindors. She was utterly alone except for the Slytherin beside her. That was where she was lucky. She had Draco. He was her family now. Her everything in that respect for she had nothing else.

She pushed past the memories of her families deaths. Instead she thought of their lives, and this time not in distraction.

_Snow fell outside, Crookshanks was purring at her feet while Hermione read her history book. Again. Every once in a while she would look up and check on the Gobstone game Ron had going on with his brother George. Ron's face was still dripping water from the last game._

_For the second time a small blue stone spun around and squirted in his face. Ron jolted back swiping his sleeve over his wet face. "You cheat," he accused George._

_George slapped a hand to his chest over his heart pretending to be wounded. "Oh, dear brother, I would never cheat you!"_

_Hermione snorted, and Ron glared. She looked quickly down to her book, but didn't stop smiling, and she could see through her lashes that Ron's face was as red as his hair, and George was conning him into another game._

_"Sure," Ron agreed._

_"It's okay, Hermione. Just hold on. I have you."_

_Hermione took a deep breath of July air out in the garden at the Burrow. Ron was sniggering from his place under a tree as Harry held his broom steady, the very broom Hermione was perched on, her hands a death grip on the handle, her knuckles bone white._

_"I-I can-can't do th-this Har-Harry. I'll fall!"_

_"Would I ever let anything happen to you?"_

_She glanced into his honest green eyes. "No."_

_"Then I'm going to let go."_

_"No! Please, Harry, don't let me go!"_

_He sighed, frustration showing through. "You said you wanted to learn, Hermione."_

_"I changed my mind. I want off."_

_He placed a hand on her shoulder. "I'll ride it once around with you. You won't have to do anything, just hold on. The next time, I'll guide you."_

_"Then?"_

_"Then you do it by yourself."_

_Ron was nearly roaring with laughter. "Oh, come off it, Hermione. It's not that bad!"_

_She burned. "You think you're a natural, Ron!"_

_That wiped his smirk off. "Go on then, see how easy it is!"_

Hermione blocked the rest of that memory out. Nothing bad had happened to her, Harry was very careful with her, he barely went fast enough for there to be wind. Yet it still didn't help her shaking. She hated flying.

She looked up to Draco and thought of the new memories she could possibly make with him. If their path had been different. Draco was positive that they would die in their attempt to right the world, and she didn't think he was wrong. They didn't have much of a chance, but she was willing to give it a try. Maybe along the way they could make memories together, they just weren't going to be the memories that normal people held, like the people they were passing. They were going to be quite various.

She slipped her hand in his and he intertwined their fingers as they disappeared in the crowd.


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter Twenty-Four

Like A Broken Marionette

If Draco could have frozen time he would have then, because nothing could have been more perfect than lying on the sofa with Hermione in his arms. That wasn't true, there were other things that could have been more perfect, but it was close. He had her with him, his fingers in her hair, feeling the soft skin of her cheek. He couldn't think of those other things, for surely it would tip Hermione off and possibly ruin the moment they were having.

He traced the outer edge of her ear with his lips. He breathed hotly into it and smiled lightly as she shivered. He ran his hand over her side.

If God graded on a curve, and he was admitted into Heaven he wondered how it could top that very moment with her. Could anything taste, feel, or look as beautiful as she did? How could something like that even be possible?

Then that Muggle couple had to ruin it. The yells reaching them from the wall behind them. He cursed and Hermione sighed.

"It's time," she said attempting to roll off the sofa, but Draco grabbed her hip keeping her against him.

"Wait. What are they fighting about?"

"It's muffled, I can't understand them."

He took her chin between his fingertips forcing her to look at him. He let his gaze sweep over her too-innocent expression once, down the line of her sweet nose from her long dark lashes, to her mouth which he kissed. "You're lying."

"Yes," she admitted.

"What are they saying?"

Hermione paused to listen. "He's calling her some awful names that I _won't_ repeat." She flinched. "Oh, that was horrid," she shook her head, "she's apologizing. She's apologizing over and over again."

Then Draco heard something that was unfamiliar. There was a crack and a boom, deafening in his ears, his insides jump, his heart in his throat. He watched as the color drained from Hermione's face her eyes wide and horrified. Then without warning she jumped to her feet skidding to the door.

"Get out your wand," she ordered.

"Hermione," he groaned rolling off the sofa as well reaching behind him for his wand. He followed her outside to the hallway. It smelled of old cheese, a clouded ceiling lamp above them flickering causing him to squint.

Hermione went to the couple's door not bothering with knocking. She barged right on through, her borrowed wand of Luna's in front of her.

The lounge was identical to theirs, the same old wallpaper, and floorboard that would soon be rotting, only this place had none of the warmth they had come accustomed to from Luna's.

Draco spotted a young blond girl on the floor, blood seeping below her and spreading on her light blue shirt from the curious crimson hole in her stomach. A weedy man stood above her with an odd metal object in his hand. He didn't know what happened, what that object could have been, but he didn't get a good feeling from it. He positioned himself in front of Hermione.

"Draco, get out of the way," she said worriedly pulling on his arm. She was a lot stronger then when he first got her from the cells, but she still wasn't strong enough to pull and push him around. Not physically at least, so he stayed put. He wasn't risking anything with her, not even with a pathetic Muggle.

The man chuckled pointing his metal contraption at Draco's chest. He spoke and Draco looked to Hermione.

"Your sticks can't hurt me," she translated, her eyes shifting from the contraption to the dying girl. Without a change in her terrified expression she yelled, "obliviate."

With the force of her spell, the man flew backwards into a wall, dust and plaster falling from the ceiling, and he crumpled uselessly like a broken marionette. Funny how broken strings were related to the unconscious or dead.

Hermione bent beside the dying girl who was turning a light shade of gray due to the lack of blood that was in her. The bruises along her chin and eye were standing out more and more giving her a ghostly look.

"Take her to the hospital!" She was frantic, scared. He saw a flicker of a memory that she was trying to repress. He knew it, because he saw it so many times before.

"You'll deal with the bloke," he asked her skeptically. He wondered if she could hold a wand steady much less fire in the state she was in. Her hands were shaking.

"I'll deal with him and the baby! Just get her to a hospital, please, Draco!"

He only caught one word in that mad rush. "Baby?" He heard a wailing then, a baby screaming from the other room. How had he not heard that before?

"Draco!"

A fighting couple. A dying woman, an unconscious man, a baby crying. When had their life taken this turn? Nonetheless he did as Hermione said. He scooped the girl in his arms and before he apparatted to the nearest alleyway to the hospital she caught his eye meaningfully.

In that one look they both relayed the truth. The woman wasn't going to make it, the man would have to be killed, and the baby... They had no idea what to do with a baby. What did a Wizard and Witch on the run do with a Muggle baby?

***

When Draco left with the woman Hermione hurried out of the room with the puddle of blood that held too many memories. She went down the hall following the baby's cries.

The room in itself wasn't what she'd imagine for a baby's room. There were no frills, no stuffed animals, no colors, nothing of comfort, only a wooden cob which had gnaw marks on it. She leaned over it and saw a red-faced baby in a pink jumper. A baby girl, a sweet girl (despite the wailing) with tufts of black hair, and she saw as she opened her eyes that they were cobalt blue. She smiled thinking of Harry and Ron. She wondered aimlessly if a child of Harry and Ginny's would look like the girl here with Harry's raven hair and her uncle's eyes.

Hermione, remembering how she held Teddy, cradled the baby in her arms, holding her against her chest. The baby immediately quieted, emitting soft coos, but tears continued to leak from her beautiful eyes.

"Shhh," Hermione muttered comfortingly. "It's all okay. You're safe now. No one's going to hurt you." She brushed the baby's cheek. "You're so pretty. Are you hungry?" She padded to the kitchen keeping her eyes on the baby, softly speaking to her. "I wonder what your name is. You must have a pretty name."

The kitchen didn't surprise her. Not from what she heard of the arguments, the drunken stupor that the man seemed to always be in (according to the conversations). There was the proof there, bottles littering the table and counter. There was a red substance on the edge of the table that she didn't inspect. She knew it was blood, possibly the same blood that was cooling in the lounge.

She hooked her foot in the fridge's door flipping it open. She breathed in relief when she saw the rows of baby liquid on a shelf beneath the beer.

Securing the baby in one arm she got one bottle setting it on the only clear space on the counter. She reached behind her retrieving her wand waving it over the bottle in a silent spell. She warmed it to the perfect temperature. It was easy after all those times she took care of Teddy.

Once placed to her lips the baby girl suckled happily and eagerly on the bottle. _She must have been going hungry for a while,_ Hermione thought sadly. Her and her family were hidden, but Teddy always had something to eat, they never went hungry.

Sad, she returned to the room where the blood laid, but her eyes were for the cruel man. He hadn't woken. She was grateful for it. She was equally grateful for the bundle in her arms. Not only because she was alive, but because she refused to kill the man with his daughter in her arms.

The man had to be killed though. If he didn't wake and force Hermione by causing trouble, Draco would no doubt do it.

The pressure on the bottle was gone, and Hermione looked down. The baby was fast asleep, her eyelids fluttering, her bottom lip moving with her breath. Hermione hoped her dreams were pleasant, unmarred. She hoped for her to never know the day that her and Draco entered her horrible life whether to change it for better or not, because no matter what happened to her parents, they couldn't keep her.

Hermione sat on the far wall from the baby's broken father, his lip cut and bleeding. Even in rest he was a mean-looking man, his jaw square and tough, his lips in a thin harsh line.

She directed her gaze away to the baby. She thought of the perfect ending to her terrible tale. Somehow, the Death Eaters vanished, the world turned good, and her and Draco could keep the baby. They could buy a house right there in Greece, and they could raise this pretty child. They could be a happy family.

It would have been the perfect ending, but the Death Eaters were still out there, the world was bad, and her and Draco had to give up the baby. They could never have a house anywhere, not even in Greece, and they couldn't raise the child. They couldn't be a happy family.

Hermione and Draco would take their last breaths to protect everyone. Many people couldn't grasp what it meant to fight to the death, not until they were willing to do it, not until they were facing death itself.

Hermione and Draco would die for the old world, and the baby in her arms. They would die for everyone who deserved that happy ending, because it was for sure that they weren't going to get theirs.

***

An hour later Draco stopped outside of the couple's door holding his hands in front of him. His hands as well as his arms were smeared with the girl's blood, crusting dry under his nails. He remembered how he begged her to stay alive for her baby as he ran to the hospital. Her eyes had fluttered open, staring at him with their brilliant blue hue. She whispered one thing that he would carry with him.

"Take care of her."

His steps slowed as her heart did. He descended to his knees as she died there in his arms. He yelled at the corpse, told her she was weak Muggle, and a number of other things that Hermione would have rebuked him for.

How could the girl have known who he was? In her last breaths she didn't think of who she was asking to take care of what he could only deduce was her baby - her baby daughter. She didn't know he was a Wizard, a murderer, a man she should had feared, but how could she? He was saving her life. She probably thought him a saint.

Then again, she might not have been thinking at all. It was her desperate plea for her baby to be safe. She could have been hallucinating, not knowing what she was talking about. She was dying.

But all of it was a moot point. He agreed. When his screaming at her had ceased, he had agreed. He promised he would take care of her daughter. He intended to keep that promise.

Draco didn't think Hermione would have minded. She wanted to do good in the world, and what could have been better but raising the child, saving her from her ruined life?

He opened the door and stepped in. The scene hadn't changed much since he left. The man was lying in his spot appearing to not have stirred. The blood was still there on the floor, the wood soaking it in like a memory.

To his right was his Hermione holding the baby girl, an empty bottle lying next to her. She looked up to him sadly scanning the blood on him. He noticed that the front of his robes were too splashed in it.

"I'm sorry," he said sincerely.

She nodded looking back to the baby as he sat next to her. "I'm sorry too. Sorry for her."

"Take her to our lounge, okay? I'm going to deal with _him_," he jerked his head to the despicable man that hadn't earned the term "dad."

"Okay," she responded weakly getting to her feet and leaving.

He took out his wand and stood over the man. He had killed people before. He felt little remorse for their lives, just the remorse he had for himself, for being cruel enough to do it and _not_ feel that emotion.

It was different with this man. He could hardly be called a man. A lowlife didn't seem appropriate enough. He was nothing but an abuser. He had everything he could ask for. That woman was beautiful, his daughter was cute. He was probably loved in some aspect, and yet he threw it all away on a temper, and if his sense of smell was right, on alcohol.

He didn't feel anything but a great justice for what he was about to do.

"You had everything," was all Draco said before he casted the curse to end the abuser's life.


	25. Chapter 25

Chapter Twenty-Five

Once Upon A Time

On the sofa Hermione coddled the baby in her arms watching her giggle when she mocked the funny voices her mother used on her when she was young. She told the baby stories she had memorized from books. She told her of how she looked like her best friends. She told her that she would be safe.

From down the hall Hermione heard the shower cut off. Minutes later Draco emerged with only a towel around his waist. He smiled as his hair dripped down his face causing droplets where he walked. He lounged on the sofa beside her, caressing the baby's soft hair.

She didn't have to ask to know what he was thinking, because she was thinking the same thing. She was imagining that house, him as a dad and her as a mom. It was so clear, but too far away.

"Draco," she said watching his face fall into apprehension at her careful tone. "We can't keep her."

He sighed, groaned, and stood up rounding on her. "Why in the bloody hell not," he asked her in quiet fury.

She remained calm. She understood his frustration. He had been fighting for that image longer than she had been thinking about it. She would have been mad too if she was in his place. "We have a job to do," she stated simply.

"This _isn't_ our _job_, Hermione! A job is something you go to everyday to earn money for the ones you love, to make a living. We don't have that, we are running to get the chance to _live_. We can have that! We are getting a head start," he motioned at the baby.

She felt a terrible remorse for him and herself. "She isn't our gift, Draco. Her mother died at the hand of her father, and you killed him. We rescued her but she isn't ours. She doesn't belong to us."

"The hell she doesn't! We found her!"

Her eyes widened at his childish behavior. She didn't know that this would provoke such a reaction. She understood his anger, but she didn't know how far he would go... How angry he would have become... She had never seen him become red in the cheeks. "This isn't finders keepers!"

He closed his eyes and took a breath, attempting to calm himself. He opened them looking at her with despairing hope. "We can be her family, Hermione. I can be her dad, because that man wasn't a father, that was a sperm donor! You can be her mother, because hers is gone now. We can do this! What do you suggest we do otherwise? Give her up to strangers? She's better off with us!"  
Tears burned her. It wasn't Draco's fury that was causing her to ache, it was the crystal clear picture in her mind. All she had to do was say yes... "How do you figure? She's Muggle, dragon. We're magical."

"We'll put our wands away."

"And then what would we do to protect her against the ones that are intent on seeing us dead? We killed Voldemort's replacement, you know we're in more danger than anyone else. We have every Death Eater searching. We can't put her in any more danger than by keeping her with us. We're setting her life at risk right now."

He relaxed his stance. He was seeing her view, but there was still that look of hopelessness. He wanted to hang onto what they couldn't have. It pained her to see it with such clarity, with no mask, because she wanted it too, she wanted it so badly she thought she would crack.

"What do we do, lioness?"

She kissed the baby's forehead, holding her lips there for several long beats. It was something she would do often before she gave her up. "I have a plan..."

He returned to his seat next to her. He kissed the baby's forehead as well. "What's your glorious plan?"

Hermione smirked at him, trying to lessen the tense atmosphere. "How do you know it's glorious? I haven't told you what it is yet."

"If it comes from you, my dear, it's glorious. Now go on, tell me it."

"We give her a name and give her to the hospital. Then we'll go hunt the Death Eaters. If we live, we'll come back for her."

Draco gazed at her with a breakable sadness. "What if she's adopted?"

Her heart wrenched, but she pushed forward. It would be a good thing if the baby was adopted, she deserved a happy and safe life with a normal Muggle family. "Then we leave her be."

"You mean we leave behind someone we care about?"

"She isn't ours."

"She could be. We can't save the world on our own. If we give her up and we go after the Death Eaters, we _won't_ be coming back."

"She'll be safe -"

"No one is safe. You of all people should know that."

The tears cascaded down her cheeks, but she didn't choke, or sob. She didn't utter a sound as she cried. She did know that. He knew that she knew.

She held the baby closer. How could she make him understand? "We'll try to keep her safe but the first step to that is letting her go."

There was an unfathomable look about him then. "Love, I promised her mum I would take care of her."

"She was dying, she didn't know what she was saying..." She didn't want to picture the poor woman, but she did, it was involuntary and it hurt, and it hurt to tell him that the woman was possibly delusional, but it was true.

"I promised," he insisted stubbornly.

"And you're a liar," she pointed out truthfully.

"I'm not going to make what I said a lie."

"They killed your parents and best mate. They wiped out my whole family. I don't even know if my parents are alive. They could be dead for all I know," she finally choked and sobbed, but her voice stayed firm, albeit strained. "I won't stand back and let others die while we live out our lives as we thought they should have been. We'll be living a lie, dragon. We'll be pretending that what happened and what keeps happening, didn't. I won't be directly responsible for her death."

Draco leaned back on the couch defeated. With his forefinger he traced the baby's brows. He swallowed thickly before saying, "what's her name?"

She smiled but she didn't like his defeat. A large part of her was hoping that he would find a way to make it seem right to keep the baby, and live their life in false happiness. "Harriet Ronda Granger Malfoy."

He furrowed his brows, shaking his head. "How..." He didn't seem able to finish.

"Harriet and Ronda is a close female form of Harry and Ron. I was going to ask if you'd like to add a name of your own."

"Too many names, love, lets keep it a bit shorter for the poor girl. How about we take one name in replace of another. How about... Harriet Ronda Theodora Malfoy."

She chuckled in true humor. "Theodora is lovely, but you're taking off my family name?"

He rolled his eyes in response, but as she felt her glare darken he explained. "What would be the point of that? Before we go on our little excursion of murders you'll be marrying me."

Her heart stopped then and there, and yet she wasn't dead. She looked into his face for any signs of lies or jesting, but she saw none. He was telling the truth. She wanted to say something, she opened her mouth to, but nothing came out. Her heart restarted beating in rapid succession behind her ribs. "You're serious?"

Lifting a hand to her cheek he swept her hair holding his palm flat against her neck. She was certain that he could feel her blood rushing beneath. His eyes didn't release hers. "Yes. Let us have a piece of the future we could have had if our paths weren't obstructed. You want to marry me, don't you, Hermione?"

There was not a way to tell him how much she wanted to marry him. There were no words in any language to describe it. So, "yes," was all she said. Then she kissed him hard, bruising their lips together.

***

Draco held her neck with one hand while the other was clasped over hers holding the baby. It would have been the perfect picture to paint if he was the artist he wished himself to be. Him and Hermione with the baby that could have been theirs. As far as he was concerned, it was their baby. Little Harriet Ronda Theodora Malfoy was theirs and would remain theirs.

He wasn't getting his happy ending, but was there such? Were there any happy endings to horrid tales such as theirs? Marrying her, keeping their daughter safe was as good as it would get.

It might not have made sense to anyone else, his attachment to a dream. Maybe it was plain wrong of him, but he had made it clear that he wasn't a good person. But he would make a good father, and the first action as a father he would take was to protect her. Her and her mother, his soon-to-be-wife.

He leaned back from Hermione, scooping the baby in his arms. "Go and sleep, I'll watch her for a while."

She laughed. To him it was the most beautiful sound in the world. He had waited a long time to hear it. "I took the cob, it's in Luna's room. We don't have to keep a constant eye on her."

"But we will. We don't have much time with her. Let us get our fill."

She kissed the baby. "I don't think that's possible."

He didn't either. "Go on, love. You're tired. You need to rest. We'll have her tomorrow at least."

She nodded absentmindedly and kissed his lips. She left down the hallway, closing herself into the bathroom.

He took his chance then. Lying Harriet carefully on his lap he took his wand from the arm of the sofa where he had left it before his shower. He cast a silencing spell on the room and took off his ring. He put the tip of his wand to the crest, it burning white as he recalled what Luna told him.

_"The spell you used, Draco, was very awful. It wasn't made to be used for good. But it has, and it had good effects. Your love protected her."_

He loved the baby. She would carry on a few of the names of the people that died for good. She would be theirs in all rights beyond that of legal. She would be loved no matter where she was. No matter her blood. He would protect her in the same means he protected Hermione. Because she was the good part of them.

He moved the shoulder of her jumper aside. He pressed the white hot ring against her sensitive skin and prepared himself for the reaction, something that could never be prepared for.

Like last time he swore that he would be sick from what he was doing. Causing pain to protect. It saved Hermione, and if the time came - which he hoped it wouldn't - it would save Harriet. His Harriet. His Hermione. They belonged to him as well as they could have. While him and Hermione might die, he wouldn't let the only good part of them die too.

He picked his wand back up and soothed the red crest mark swallowing the bile in the back of his throat. He wiped her tears, kissed her cheeks, and held her close to his chest rocking her back and forth. "I'm sorry little one. I truly am. If there was any other way... Let me sing." And he did. He sung her a lullaby that his mother sung to him when he was upset and afraid. It came true now more than ever.

"Sweet baby,  
Do not cry.  
I am here tonight,  
To hold you tight,  
And tell you a story,  
That begins with 'once upon a time.'  
The stories where everything ends fine.  
Nobody is hurt.  
And everyone is at peace.  
The moon will rise,  
And it will fall.  
But I will be here through it all.  
You will have to go back,  
When the sun rises,  
But for now,  
Sweet baby,  
Do not cry,  
Because I'm here tonight.  
I will hold you tight,  
And tell you that story,  
That always begins with 'once upon a time,'  
And 'happily ever after.'  
Oh baby,  
I will see you again."

Draco cried with his daughter rocking her, back and forth and sung the lullaby again.

* * *

A/N: The lyrics are a poem titled "Once Upon A Time." I wrote it years ago for my newborn cousin.


	26. Chapter 26

Chapter Twenty-Six

Keep It As Gold

There was a little white Church in Greece. It was small, near the edge of woods, and a long way away from the city in which Luna's flat was in. With evening stretching along the purple sky him and Hermione apparated there, Hermione leading the way. She had told him before they left that it was a Church that once she had been to when she was young with her parents while they vacationed.

When they came to the quaint Church Hermione kissed Harriet, cooed something in her ear and broke away from Draco who rocked the crying baby who hadn't quite liked side-along apparation.

Hermione touched the corner brick, she bent to the flowers lined up outside. She sat on a wooden bench outside and sighed, tears glimmering in her eyes. He sat next to her with their daughter. He honestly didn't care about where they went, as long as they were married. As long as she belonged to him and him alone, but he was thoroughly glad that the place meant something to her.

She pointed into a parting of the woods. "That's where my dad showed me this pretty rock. It was the size of my hand exactly, and it was painted green and silver. I thought it was the most lovely thing here."

"Green and silver," he asked with humor though it confirmed what he knew. She did belong to him. Fate had set them up long before. Perhaps it was a bit presumptuous to read that much into a rock, but there they were.

She chortled. "Yes, green and silver. Funny, eh? This was before I went to Hogwarts. I was six." Her smile steadily slipped. "I thought it was the most prettiest thing here, but now I think this Church is. I'm surprised, really, I didn't think it would be standing. I mean... How could it be? Everything else is gone..."

He took her chin, directing her gaze at him. "Not everything," he said meaningfully.

Her smile returned, but just a little. "I love you."

"There'd be no other reason I'd come here."

She leaned forward, her lips barely touching his. His heart thrummed almost painfully in his rib cage in reaction to her closeness, her mint breath, but he didn't kiss her no matter how badly he wanted to at that moment. She had something to say, he could feel that. He was right.

"I wish they were here."

"So do I."

She seemed surprised by this. "You do?"

He smiled. "Your parents? Of course. Your other family? I don't like them anymore than I did in school, love." That was not close to the truth, because he hated them more then he did in the old days. He hated Potter for failing to kill Voldemort. He hated Weasley for... He didn't know what he could hate Weasley for anymore... His inane action was what led them to the moment they were having. He couldn't hate him any longer. However, his hatred of Potter fully made up for that, so he didn't feel as bad.

She leaned back, and he hated that. He wanted to pull her back, closer to him. "Then why...?"

"Because," he said slowly as if explaining simple addition to a child, but stopped quickly at the fevered look Hermione was giving to him. "I love you and you love them. I want you to be happy today."

She grazed her fingertips across Harriet's cheek, Harriet laughing sweetly, the sound of angel's bells in Draco (and certainly in Hermione's) opinion. "I can only be so happy..."

"I know... It's a dark day..."

"You have hope?"

"I have more than hope, lioness. I have you." Finally he bent and kissed her lips. He tasted strawberry. He grinned.

"I should get ready," she admitted.

"Then we'll wait for you."

Hermione kissed his lips one more time, and stood to walk to the doors of the Church to change. They had already spoken to the preacher by way of a pay phone near the flat, or it would be more truthful to say that Hermione talked with him as well as looked him up in a huge book beforehand. He never gave a real thought to it, but Muggleborns had the best chance at living a full life (Voldemort and Death Eaters excluded) because they knew of both worlds. They weren't as unintelligent as he had thought growing up and Hermione especially wasn't. Not that he didn't know that from the moment of meeting her (it made her effectively more irritating), and it was one of the reasons he loved her.

Minutes later from going inside and talking with the preacher, with Harriet in his arms Draco waited at the end of the aisle as Hermione altered her shirt into a simple white dress in the loo. He continued to wear his old clothing and Hermione had tried to insist that she do the same, but just as he fought for her to walk down the aisle, he fought for her to wear a white dress. It was the only wedding they were going to have. He wished he could have given her flowers, music, and cake instead of a last minute ceremony before they went off to face Death Eaters. He wished that her father, or any one of her friends were alive to walk her down the aisle properly, but he was going to do it as right as he could. He wanted to see her walk in towards him. It was something they should experience, the only thing he could give her.

The preacher (the single one willing to give the wedding last minute due to a lie that Hermione was dying - which was close enough) waited next to him with a sly toothy smile. Draco ignored him, his sights only for the doors past the pews.

Little Harriet cooed in his arms, and he hushed her gently, "mum will be here soon," he told, pride coming through his voice as he acknowledged Hermione to being her mother. It was only a short time, only hours, that they would have her, for that night they would be leaving Greece. They would leave immediately after handing Harriet over to the hospital where her biological mother was given. They would go back to England where they belonged.

Then the doors opened.

Draco was ecstatic. No, that was an understatement. He was beyond elation. Wishing for Hermione was one thing, having her was another, but marrying her... He couldn't describe the feeling that was coursing through him. He never dared to dream for something this out of reach, but there she was at the end of the velvet red aisle.

She was beautiful in a way he hadn't seen her since their fourth year at Hogwarts. In fact, she was more beautiful now than she was then, because now she had her eyes on him. Her dress was pure white, it flowed to the floor skimming it, hugging her curves. Her hair was let loose over her shoulders, the way he liked it, and her lips and eyes shimmered.

"There she is," he whispered to Harriet. "Your mum is gorgeous."

Hermione walked slowly towards him, blushing furiously. The Church they came to was silent, there was not even music to accompany them. Perhaps Hermione felt odd, but he was at perfect ease watching her. The most important aspect of it all was that she was coming to him. that she loved him enough to make the choice to bind herself to him for however long they were to live.

When she reached the alter she held out her arms, and Draco laid their daughter in them, his glowing smile matching hers. He knew more than ever that whatever there was to come it would be okay, because he had her. He had more than what he deserved.

"Do you have vows," the preacher asked in a thick Greek accent.

"Yes," he replied, Hermione now looking at him with awe, but he didn't deserve it. He didn't make vows, he hadn't thought it out. He just knew he had to explain to her in some way how much she meant to him. And he did, taking a deep breath and speaking from head and heart. "If I was an artist, I'd paint you a million times. I'm not, but my vision is filled with you. I never thought I'd be here. You're my wish come true. You've healed my wounds like magic. My past is a memory, the future a dream. My promise I'll give. I'll never leave you." He pursed his lips. "Keep this as gold, wrap it around your finger. Together, lets grow old." He smirked. He had no ring, the promise as best as he could do and they couldn't grow old. It all seemed very empty, but it was what he wanted.

***

Wet warmth streaked her cheek, and she tasted salt as she licked her lips. Who knew that such a cold man could be capable of such warmth. He would never cease surprising her.

"Ms?"

She nodded her voice cracking as she spoke. "Yes, I have vows." That was a lie. She didn't have vows, and as she listened to Draco's she felt immensely guilty for it, but she would tell him what he meant to her, and that was a vow in itself.

He stroked her cheek, wiping her tear away, at the same time giving her courage.

"I lost my family. I lost my home. I lost everything and everyone I love. I had nothing. But you... You gave me a family, a home, love. You've given me everything - forced it upon me is more like it - but I'm glad. You brought me back to life." It wasn't as romantic as he had put it, a poem-like vow that was lovely enough to make her weep.

"You are now officially husband and wife."

Startled, Hermione glanced at the preacher. Official. Wife. Husband. She laughed in shock, and kissed her new husband fiercely, Harriet between them giggling making the moment sweeter.

Her husband. Draco. Nearly a decade ago, who would've thought?

She took the baby from his arms, and he gently took the crook of her arm leading her out of the Church laughing all the way. It was contagious, she laughed too. They didn't know why. Maybe out of pure happiness, but they didn't stop until the cool air hit her face bringing her back. They paused at the edge of the dark woods in which they had apparated in.

"Are you ready for this," he asked, sadness etched into his features such a difference it was not a minute before.

She answered honestly, "no. No, I'm not." She looked down to the sweet angel in her arms, her bright eyes and rosy cheeks. "I don't want to give her up..."

"We have to."

"I know..."

He bent to her ear, his hot breath causing chills up her spine. "I want this life too."

More tears fell, this time not from pretty vows, or the commitment they made. "I want something to connect her to us." She did want that. It wasn't as though Harriet shared their blood, she carried no traits of either of them. When it came down to it she was a Muggle baby they rescued. They should have never formed a bond with her, but it was too late for that and she wanted a connection.

An odd look crossed Draco's visage only to be wiped clean like it hadn't been there. She wondered if she was seeing things. "How about... How about I give her my ring? It has our crest on it. She can trace us back..." He struggled to loosen the ring off of his finger and once he did he kissed the crest and placed it in the pink folds of the blanket. "She'll be safe," he promised and Hermione believed him, though she didn't know why.

He slung an arm over her shoulder, turned on the spot, and Hermione felt that familiar tightening in the pit of her stomach being pulled through a tight tube.

* * *

A/N: Draco's vows are another poem of mine titled "Keep It As Gold." Written for my husband shortly before we married.


	27. Chapter 27

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Giving Her Up

"Are you sure you don't want to come?"

Hermione swept her fingers over their daughter's forehead, tears dripping freely as did Harriet's as she bawled. "I don't think I can do this," she said speaking over her screams. "I don't want to give her up."

"You want to stop them," he stated vaguely as the sick Muggle's past them where they were standing, inside of two sliding glass doors of the hospital.

She nodded. "This is for all of us. If I want her to be safe, I have to do this."

"We," he corrected. "It's we now."

"We have to do this," she agreed wiping one tear from her left cheek. "But I can't watch as we hand her over. I can't handle that. It's too final, too much of a goodbye. I've had enough goodbye's."

He understood that. He had enough of it too, but this was for her. He'd take any pain it came with if it meant that she would be as happy as she could be.

Draco could physically feel his heart beating. It was ramming inside of his rib cage, but he felt as though it was gone. He was repeatedly being punched in the stomach as he did what he had to do. For Harriet.

Hermione was right, as she tended to be in her school days. She was getting more and more like herself. More like the Hermione he loved and continued to love.

"Right," he said pressing his lips to her forehead. "I'll go do it then."

Hermione turned her back to them, sniffling on her way out the odd sliding doors. He turned too, going towards the elevators Hermione pointed him towards. He squeezed into the empty compartment leaning on the side, planting his feet firmly, and tried his best not to look as afraid as he felt (not that anyone was watching). He sucked in a breath (better than a yell) when the elevator jerked, and moved in a smooth motion and jerked to another stop.

Harriet had just stopped crying from apparation, the ride in the Muggle cage soothing her, and he was glad, it was making him anxious, and it made him more so in that small space for it rebounded off the walls twice as loud. It really was a lucky thing that no one else was in there with him, it would certainly drive them to madness.

When the doors slid open he sprinted out. He hated those things. If anything else could be said about Muggle's it was that they came up with scary contraptions such as those elevator things.

He pushed thoughts of plummeting in a heap of metal out of his mind and doubled check that it was the right floor (out of ten), and went to find the nearest Healer – doctor – whatever, but before he took three steps down the foul smelling hallway he stopped and sat on a bench.

He didn't know if he could do it. He didn't want to think of what kind of family Harriet would go to. He didn't want anyone horrible, but he didn't want a perfect family. It was the bad in him coming out, but if something happened to him, he truly did want her to have a good life. But he wanted to be that for her. He wanted to be the dad and Hermione the mum. He wanted to give her a cozy house, maybe hex a few of her dates. He would give up magic, anything if it meant keeping her, but unfortunately it wasn't that easy.

Harriet gazed up at him with those beautiful blue eyes. She smiled, her tears gone. The girl did like to smile and he smiled back at her though he could feel that it was pained and forced. To think, the poor baby would have been unnamed, without two parents. Now she would have no parents, but she would have a name. She would not be like Hermione, hollow without a history.

He looked around, making sure no one was near. No one was, the hallway was very void. This was good, because he wanted to sing her one last song, something that his mother sung to him when her and his father went away on long trips. It too, was fitting.

"My little angel.  
My sweet dear.  
Let me explain,  
That I could not stay.  
I will be gone for some time.  
But don't you fear.  
I will always be near.  
Keep your chin up.  
Do not shed any tears.  
That even though I may be gone.  
I'm still near."

***

Hermione thought her heart would shatter into tinier pieces when she handed Harriet to Draco. She stood outside of the large white hospital watching cars park and people helping the sick along to the door, the wheelchairs, the praying. She waited because she couldn't stand giving up Harriet to them. She couldn't believe that it would be the last time she laid eyes on their daughter.

The sun was low in the sky, night coming upon them with its chilly air. By the time it truly fell when the stars would be their clearest they would be long gone. They might be dead. Those streaks of purple and gold might be the last sunset she would witness. She didn't want to take her eyes off of it, to lost a single second, and to not look towards the doors with the strong urge to go running inside and take her baby back.

When Draco came through the sliding doors, his arms empty, face glittering silent tears she ran into him, her arms flying around his neck. She shook and cried into his neck, and he held her around her waist shaking himself.

She felt like she was breaking all over again. Everyone had been taken from her (exception of Draco) and this bright light came into her life only for her to give her up. Give her up. Like she meant nothing. She didn't know how much more she could take. How much could any human being really take until they died from grief?

Though Draco hadn't moved from her, she felt empty, that spot in her heart ripping itself open, her wound bleeding in front of all. Sadistically she thought that being killed didn't sound so bad. She was back at the beginning, wishing for death, the only difference being that she gave something up instead of losing it. It was worse. She gave it up, she had no right to grieve, and there she was, with her husband, grieving the loss of what they couldn't have.

She allowed herself a brief look of what they could have had. One last time. The small cozy house. A cat, one like Crookshanks, one that was half Kneazel. Or they could get a dog. They could name it Fang, after Hagrid's boar hound.

It was all a dream something unattainable. Every dream she ever hoped to come true came down in shambles when her and her family had to run and hide. Not that she ever dreamed of being with Draco, or having a daughter that wasn't hers by any means. Just that she couldn't have dreams at all. It was wrong – unfair, that the Death Eaters take that from her exactly like they took everything else.

***

Draco held her tighter, holding himself together by holding her, his fingers bruising her shoulder he was sure, but she didn't complain. His throat was clamped, tightening, burning, tears trickling to his chin dampening his wife's hair.

Before he handed their daughter over to the lady in white he wondered if he could keep her. He thought he'd never could have Hermione, but he had just married her an hour ago. Perhaps he could keep the little angel too. But there he was, being selfish, thinking of putting Harriet's life in danger so he wouldn't have to give her up.

Over Hermione's shoulder was the sun, brighter against the darkening sky. The scattered jewels started to glimmer in navy blue silk. Their time had run out.

"Lioness..."

"I know," she whispered. "We have to go."

He leaned back and looked straight into her shimmering doe-like eyes. He cupped her cheeks feeling the wet and softness. "I love you," he declared simply. No words were enough for the turmoil of emotions swirling inside of him.

"I love you too."

Without caring that there were dozens of people around them, that they may be watching, or that they were outside of a hospital, he kissed her. The kiss was urgent, the way his lips slammed against hers, and the way she dug her nails into the back of his neck, but it got the message across.

They were going to die, but they were doing it together. They were going to die, but they would see their families. They were going to die, but their daughter was safe.

Did anyone really know what it meant to take the good with the bad?

* * *

A/N: Once more, the lyrics are a poem of mine titled, "I Could Not Stay."

Sorry to those that wished for Harriet to stay with Draco and Hermione, but it was quite dangerous to be raising a child while traveling and killing Death Eaters like they will be doing. It was for her own good.


	28. Chapter 28

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Bait

Hermione swore that she wasn't trying to commit suicide. She said that as long as there was a possible future for them she would fight for it. However, Draco was having serious doubts about her sincerity when she was putting herself out there as bait.

While they were in their current hiding place in England, in a cellar of an old building he told her, "keep relaxed. You belong there. You're a Pureblood. You're better than everyone else."

She had nodded nervously, her entire being shaking. He kissed her on her lips, albeit harder than he meant to, and told her that she would be fine, more harshly than he intended.

By his station around a corner obstructed by the shadows of the next tall building he watched with a skeptical eye. Hermione was sitting at a white wicker table under a large yellow umbrella outside of an old-fashioned cafe, her hair back, her hood up, her face down.

It was odd clothing in such a lovely place, one of the few left and only because it was meant for Purebloods to begin with. It was Knockturn alley met Buckingham Palace. So Hermione's outfit was not out of character, everyone around her wore the same. Even the most elite Purebloods feared for their life.

However, he groaned while he surveyed her. She was shaking too much. She was too tensed. She was breathing too hard. He took one step forward to pull her out. He knew he should have done this himself. Hermione wasn't more Pureblood than he was a Muggleborn. He would have gone in himself, but she was resilient in the prospect that it should be her, that they didn't know her as well.

He still didn't like it. Not one bit. There were too many snags for the way they were exposing themselves. It was in the worst way.

He remembered an hour before they had apparated out there (increasingly difficult when a person felt as though they were beaten by a Troll, the real cause of sleeping on a concrete floor). It was all the reasons he was sure they were going to die...

_"At least let me change the color of your hair, Hermione!"_

_She threw up her hands and crossed them in front of her chest. He hated to admit that she looked very cute when she was angry, the way her face contorted in disgust almost reminded him of himself. "You can only change the color of your hair _sparingly_, Draco. Or else it has some side-effects."_

_"Like what," he challenged. He knew better than to do that, Hermione always had an answer for everything. She was worse than a walking dictionary, she was a walking encyclopedia._

_"Like turning a different color than you want. Like orange, or blue."_

_"We'll deal with those colors, it's better than being recognized for your natural color."_

_She laughed emptily. "You don't think anyone would wonder why your hair was like that? They're going to know you did that spell wrong, and then they're going to wonder what you're hiding."_

_He rolled his eyes. All of her comebacks were ridiculous and he came close to laughing. Not always the best option to do with Hermione angry. She slapped him last time, and her strength was better now than it was then. "Not everyone is as clever as you, love."_

_"We shouldn't take chances!"_

_That was true. He was defeated. He lost. To Hermione. One out of the many times he had and would lose to her. He refused to think that it was because she was smarter than him though deep down he knew that to be true. It was better than the alternative, that he was getting weaker._

And so there he stood, wand in grasp, waiting edgy as a hooded man came forth, sitting across from her.

The show had begun.

***

Hermione was measuring her breaths accordingly. Even from the distance they were she could feel the disapproval wave off of Draco. She knew he questioned her reasons for why she was putting herself out there, but that unknown reason was simple... If it wasn't her that was bait, it would be him and that would be too dangerous. He was the traitor, and that was just as bad as being a Mudblood, if not more so. They would kill him on the spot, and she wouldn't and couldn't lose him. Not like that.

Peeking only slightly out of her hood she took a good look around again. It was hard to believe what she was seeing. She didn't know places like this existed in the magical world. There was no rubble, no rebuilding. There were buildings (most void) of cheerful white and blue, the sun shining down on the cobblestone streets. However it didn't remain a fairytale. There were too many dark cloaks, too many hoods up. She didn't know that even the loyal of Purebloods were hiding in a town that was theirs. It was sad in its own way.

Her and Draco had taken refuge in the far most abandoned building. No one would guess that they would choose to be in a town that they were in danger the most which he was hoping would make them safer.

Her eyes connected with the corner she knew he was watching from, unseen. She directed her gaze quickly away. He would reprimand that for her later. In fact, he would reprimand her for many things she was certain she was doing wrong. She was never a great actress. Ginny would be much better in her place, but Ginny wasn't alive to help. It was up to her, and Draco. The most unsuspecting pairing there was.

The plan was simple though. They just wanted to know who had taken Rodopolus' place and where. Once they knew, perhaps they could take an appropriate action. Of course it would involve lying, possible kidnapping, and certainly murder. Draco wouldn't let the person live.

A cloaked person stopped in front of her. He bent a little at the waist as if trying to see under her hood. She dipped her head lower. She thought she heard that person chuckled, and by the deepness, the rasping, she knew it was a man.

Unable to contain herself she glimpsed to the corner. Could he hear her heart all the way over there?

The man picked up the chair across from her turning it around so its back was against his chest. He chuckled again. "Your boyfriend is very predictable."

She shifted nervously. "I don't know what you mean."

This time he laughed. He laughed so hard that she jumped and searched her surroundings for on-lookers, but there was none. There were five people walking past them, two at the far end and none of them dared to check where the laughter was coming from.

"Jumpy, aren't you?"

"No," she lied horribly and expected the man to laugh again, but he surprised her and didn't. Instead he leaned forward as she leaned back, and he whispered as she held her breath.

"I don't mean to frighten you, but I'm glad you are. You should be afraid. You're the only one here that has enough gall to be alone. Or at least _looking_ like she's alone. Now, tell me, where is your boyfriend?"

"There is no boyfriend," she said with a shaky voice.

He hissed, low inside the darkness of his hood. "Don't lie to me, mud -" He sucked in a breath. "I know who you are."

A chill cascaded down her spine like ice. If he truly knew who she was then she didn't stand a chance. "Then kill me."

"I don't want to kill you though perhaps you should die for your ignorance! I never thought the Gryffindor brain would be out here in a Pureblood town much less with my best mate. You are putting yourself at risk along with him. What is it you want?"

His words stumbled in her head. He didn't want to kill her, she was with his best mate. None of that made sense. He couldn't be Draco's best friend. Theo was dead. She saw his finger in Draco's hand. This man had to be lying.

"Tell me," he said once more. "What is it you want? What will get you out of here?"

She leaned forward keeping her head down. "Who's leading?"

There was that chuckle. "Draco Malfoy."

She mentally staggered again. Maybe the man was a lunatic, he didn't know what he was talking about. "That can't be."

"He's the single heir to Rodophlus. He has alluded death many times. It is said that he killed all those Death Eaters at the manor. He is as valued as much as Voldemort was." The man said all this with reverence, of excitement. "Of course, they don't know he's traveling with you. When he didn't come for you, they thought that he was more loyal, that he had a plan to take Rodopholus' throne."

Her mind struggled to gather footing and she forgot who she was pretending to be. "They won't want him when he knows he's with me."

"They won't," he contested. "They'll kill him. That's why you have to step down. You have to let him take over."

She glimpsed up, her eyes boring into the shadows of the face she couldn't see. "He won't take over..."

"He has to. This is our only chance at survival! It's chaos, Death Eaters are now killing each other!"

_This is perfect_, she thought. This might be their way out. They wouldn't have to kill anyone, they could go back to Greece and take back their daughter.

The ache in her chest flared when she thought of Harriet, her coal black hair and cobalt blue eyes, her ringing laughter. "Then let them kill each other off," she said in reaction, but meant every word.

The man sighed, plopping back in his chair. "Is anything ever that simple? Weak Death Eaters are going into hiding. This won't stop unless we get Draco. He can summon them. They'll all come. All you have to do is go away."

For what must have been the tenth time, she gazed into the shade. Draco was better than Rodopholus and a million times better than Voldemort. She could imagine a younger Draco dreaming about being in Voldemort's position, and though it sent a shiver through her she thought about the Draco she loved now. Which dream did he hold most dear? The ones of his past, or the ones he wanted with her?

She gasped, her eyes snapping forward at the man when he reached over and grabbed her hands. He held them tightly, his finger digging between the bones. "Please," he begged. "If you really loved him, you would leave!"

"We're in this together," she said quietly but forcefully to this stranger.

"You can't go with him!"

She tried to see his face, bending close to him. She wanted to know... "Who are you?"

"If I tell you, will you tell me where Draco is before you leave?"

"No. I won't."

He cocked his head to the side as if he was amused by her response. "Bloody hell," he breathed in shock, dropping her hands. "You really love him, don't you?"

"I do," she smiled it showing through in her tone, she could feel that as well as the contusions on her hand. She rubbed them.

"You two have a death wish," he responded.

She laughed, she didn't know why, perhaps because in her case it was once true. However her personal joke was cut short.

Over the man's shoulder she saw movement in the shadows of the corner. Draco came out. Anger emitted from him and for a moment she was scared, then realized that she wasn't scared for herself, but for the man in front of her for whoever he was, Draco was going to kill... That was the plan... Killing the man that gave them the information.

What if this man was telling the truth? What if he was Theodore Nott? What if Draco killed his best mate?

***

Draco's wand nearly cracked in his hold as he watched Hermione get closer to the man. He thought he'd lose it when that man took his wife's hands and worse yet he wasn't hurting her, she wasn't fighting, it was almost like he was... Helping her. He didn't know what was worse, helping her, or trying to kill her. Because one was unnatural, not what they expected.

Who in the hell was this man? Was he even a Death Eater? Why was he wasting their time? More to the point, why was Hermione speaking to him? Why were they talking so long. It had to be three minutes.

When her shoulders shook with a laugh he had enough. He was going to find out. But first he would clear the area of the fearful stragglers.

He walked out of the darkness his wand raised in front of him. A woman squealed as with a "pop" she apparated away as did the others. He saw the owners of the cafe hide behind their counter. He saw a golden-haired child being pulled behind the counter as well.

He walked straight up to the man in the chair, Hermione standing and running up to him, her hands pressing on his chest attempting to push him back. What was she doing? She was saying something, but all he could do was focus on the man who had touched her so friendly. He pushed her to the side.

"Draco! No! Don't! Not yet!"

The man hadn't even turned around. What kind of person was he? Draco dug his wand into his back. He hoped he caused pain to him if not surprise which Hermione had already ruined.

"Tell me your name," he demanded of him.

"It's been _Rabbit_ for years. Damn it, dragon, we don't have a spare wand, loosen up there, mate."

Frozen wasn't enough to describe Draco then. He wondered briefly if they were all dead but quickly negated that. They couldn't be dead, there wasn't enough pain to suggest so. That only left one option open, but dare he think? Was his friend actually alive?

Finally the man stood and faced him. He pulled back the sides of his hood a smile spreading across the face of his friend.

Theodore Nott was alive. If the world hadn't been knocked off its axis before it did then. Draco swore the whole earth jerked beneath him, worse than those Muggle cages.

***

Theo pulled his hood back in its place. Hermione pulled in a gust of air that she had been denying herself since Draco had frozen, his wand still raised. She put a hand over his lowering it to his side.

"Do you think he went into shock," Theo asked waving a hand in front of his face.

She shook her head. "I don't know." She touched Draco's cheek not receiving a response. "Draco? Dragon, please answer me. Are you cold? Hungry?"

After several long moments he directed his gaze to her, his eyes shedding the clouds in the slightest considering they already looked like storms. "He's alive," was all he said.

"Come on," Theo told her grabbing Draco's arm waving his hand for her to do the same. "I have loads to tell you two and this isn't the place to do it."

"We can go to our cellar," she offered.

He shook his head. "No, I'm taking you to my house. I can bet it's a lot more comfortable."

She had no doubts about that. The cellar was just that, a cellar. No furniture. Nothing. It was cold and damp, and though she would never tell Draco she found it filled of memories of her time in the Manor. She desperately tried to set those away, but last night she shivered, not from the cold as he had thought when he wrapped his arms tighter around her, but because she thought of his uncle, the close call...

"Ready," Theo warned before they apparated.


	29. Chapter 29

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Poison

There was a lounge divided by tile to represent a kitchen on the right side. The fridge hummed, a corner of the table held up by dark arts books. The brown sofa had white stuffing coming out of its seams. Hermione could see to the left of the fireplace (random bricks missing) through a door that there was a bathroom.

It wasn't much. In fact it was poverty the way Theo, a man born rich was living. It wasn't a complaint. Theo and Draco are learning that situations weren't always cast in stone. And anyhow, it was better than the cold floor they slept on last night, or more truthfully that Draco slept on while she slept on him, her head on his chest and her legs between his.

"It isn't much," Theo said disgusted.

"It's better than where we were staying."

He shook his head. "A Pureblood town? You two have lost your minds."

She didn't retort back though she had many things to say to him. It wasn't the time. Draco still hadn't spoken. He looked forward as if petrified. She thought back to how he relished the time the Basilisk roamed their school walls in their second year. He deserved to be petrified that year, but now... Now it was just sad.

Theo helped him onto the couch it creaking noisily. Maybe it was that, that caused him to jump up like he did, but for him to throw his arms around his best mate - Theo faltering - she didn't know. His shock seemed to be broken and she allowed herself to breathe properly.

Then Draco did something quite unexpected. He curled his hand into a fist, drew back, and snapped it forward colliding it with Theo's jaw.

Theo stumbled back, Hermione on instinct lurched forward seizing his elbow to steady him before he fell. He shot daggers at Draco who shook his hand from the brute contact. "What the -"

"You faked your death?!" Draco spoke with just as much venom, his expression dangerous. There was electricity in the air, it crackled as the two men stared each other down. She wondered if Draco would attack him a second time and she tightened her hold on Theo.

"Of course I did! How thick are you! They were going to kill me!"

"You have a lot of explaining to do!"

"I'm trying to do just that you son of -"

"Don't bring my mother into this you lousy ar -"

She thought her head would explode and she stepped back from them, letting go of Theo as she did so. "Stop it," Hermione yelled. "He's alive, that's what's important!"

Draco didn't seem to be able to find a way to argue this point, his expression falling. He sat back down on the sofa, his breaths coming out as hisses through his clenched teeth. "Tell me why. Tell me why before I kill you myself, Theo."

"Interrogation," he explained massaging his jaw where a bruise was already forming. "You remember, they use Veritaserum. I don't think I can find a way to beat it. I'm not that strong, not once they weaken you..."

"The finger... It had your ring on it."

"That wasn't my finger, it was a stray Muggle's in France. I cut off his finger while we evaded his home. With the way I was rising in ranks I knew this would have happened, I was hoping that it wasn't... I used Imperius on Selwyn and gave him Polyjuice potion...

I couldn't let them interrogate me, it would mean revealing where you lived. We'd have both died." Theo glimpsed at Hermione, appraising her from her eyes to her feet, Hermione covering her chest self-consciously. "A Muggle-born, Draco? Are you sure?"

She didn't know whether she should be insulted by that, but she chose not to be. It didn't matter as she was still sick from the thought of the finger not being Theo's, of being a poor innocent man.

"Positive," he said, his voice becoming softer, reasonable. "She's my life now."

Theo laughed suddenly. "You two sure know how to bring about the demise of Death Eaters, I'll tell you that. What you did to them in the Manor -"

"That was Hermione."

He shook his head in disbelief. "What?"

Draco smiled, looking up to his friend. "I think it's time we told you our side of the story..."

***

His friend was alive. It was too good to be true in Draco's opinion but there he was in Theo's lounge, on his sofa, Theo next to him as he told their story leaving their daughter out of it, at least for the point of telling who died. He detached himself from it, not wanting to feel a renewed pain at what they suffered. They were not so much getting past it but accepting it. The pain... It never completely goes away.

Theo listened with great interest. He had always been a good listener. He asked questions, he prodded, he wondered. At the end they discussed strategies for ridding the remaining Death Eaters.

Being placed on the throne, leading the Death Eaters out of their hiding places was the best idea and could only come from someone like Theo. It would be easy. The only hard part would be leaving Hermione...

He swept the room for her realizing that she must've slipped out sometime during his retelling. It was probably for the best. Even he didn't like telling it, he could only imagine hearing it in an impassive tone. That would be worse.

"You have to leave her," Theo pressed. "This is the only way."

Was it? Was the only way for him to be the leader and murder his followers? There was that certain danger Theo had just told him about, the Death Eaters killing their comrades to prove who was the strongest, all hoping to take the place of his uncle. "I'm not the strongest out there," he informed.

"I'll have your back, mate."

"Hermione," he sighed. "She'll want to come."

"Don't let her," he said simply.

He laughed hollowly. "Do you know Hermione? I can't stop her from doing anything..."

"Granger didn't die," he pointed out.

An old scar throbbed at the thought of what could have happened. "That was her choice. And she's a Malfoy now."

Theo ignored his correction. He only gave a brief and a unfelt congratulations. He thought they were both mad. "When they see her, they'll try to kill her. You said you think it caused her pain -"

"More than she lets on -."

"Can you imagine? I don't think she'd survive it this time."

Draco raked his fingers through his hair, pulling it at the roots. He was torn. Why didn't anyone just tear him to pieces? Save the mess and despair. Save them all. It was all hopeless.

The lion and the snake. The lion would claw. The snake would bite. He remembered thinking that. Hermione had clawed, he had the emotional scars from it. He did bite, he did poison. He let her go once and she nearly died. He couldn't do that again. He would surely die from it this time.

They were poisonous for each other. He was right in the beginning. It was his side that took her family's life. It was his side that took his parents. He might as well been the cause of it. He did nothing to prevent it.

"Draco," Theo asked worriedly.

Draco shook his head, he could imagine what his face must look like. He was going somewhere with this thoughts. He knew what he had to do. He had to be unselfish. He had to be like Hermione, risking himself not just for her, but for their daughter, for the way of life that had been taken from them.

He had wanted revenge so bad he could taste it, but he overrode it for so long that it was only bitter on his tongue. It was time to face it.

"Do me one last favor?"

"What's that, mate?"

He looked up. The tearing was gone. Yes, he was supposed to do this. This was right. It was the way to set the world back on its axis. "Do you love me - like family?"

"Like a brother."

"Then brand me and take Hermione to Greece. There's someone there she needs. Stay with her, keep her safe. I don't care if she doesn't want to go. Knock her out if you have to."

"What are you thinking?"

He could use the word that Hermione wasn't able to. He wouldn't hide behind anything. "Suicide." He reached inside of his cloak and withdrew a small clear vial. "Give this to her when the time comes, will you? Make memories for her."

"I can't take your place."

"I'm not asking you to. All I'm asking is that you keep her safe. Can you do that?"

Theo looked like he was in physical pain, his face screwed up in it. "Yes."


	30. Chapter 30

Chapter Thirty

The Chosen One

_To My Lioness and Angel,_

_I love you two with my life. You are my life. I love you more than the horrendous world we're living in. I want you to live in a place that is safe. I'd give anything for you two to be happy, so please understand that this is what I need to do._

_Hermione, listen to Theo. Trust him, if only for the reason that I do. Stick together. Tell Harriet that I love her, that given the chance I would have been the best father I could be. Tell her that blood doesn't matter, that she's ours in the way that it counts._

_I know you must hate me. As you are reading this you are probably giving me that deathly look worse than a Basilisks stare. But don't be hypocritical, love. You were more than willing to die for no good reason, remember? I'm doing this for both of you._

_Live, my lioness. Raise our daughter, marry again if you find happiness in another. Whatever you may do, don't stop your life again. Don't make my death be pointless. Consider this your true Christmas gift. A free and new world._

_I love you both more than you know._

_Love, Draco Your Dragon._

Draco laid down the Eagle quill, placed the top in the ink bottle and softly blew on the letter drying his words. He read it and satisfied he folded it in thirds.

Behind him Theo was taking out the fire poker with his family's crest, the one Draco had saved in his pocket before Hermione cursed the eldest Carrow that day so long ago. It was purely sentimental at the time, but now it would come in handy.

No, he wouldn't think farther than that. If he thought too much about what he was doing there was the likely chance he would bail out, and he couldn't. He had to keep them safe. He would finish Potter's job. It would cost him his life, but it was well worth the price. He thought of Hermione holding Harriet, the joy in her eyes. It was in fact a small price to pay.

"Are you sure you want to do this," Theo asked him.

Muffled behind the closed door the shower was running, Hermione washing. "Yes, of course I do. We need to get this done before she comes out."

With gloved hands Theo slid the ring off, turning it over in his hands as if he was inspecting it for flaws. "You don't have to go. You can give me the brand. I'll do it."

"I know you would, thanks, but... They killed my parents." He visibly winced at the memory of them in their lounge.

"They killed my dad," he shot back coldly.

Draco nodded. He recalled that night at the Battle of Hogwarts. The building was falling around them as they stepped and leapt over bodies, people running when their friends were killed. It was chaos. There were so many, it was unexpected. He had been sprinting towards the great open doors when he saw the back of Theo's head in a corner, he was screaming over an older version of himself. Draco clamped his shoulders dragging him from his father's body, shoving him out the door, the sea of people carrying them until they were outside of the gates.

He looked at his friend's determination etched deep into the lines of his face. It was Draco's fault he didn't rise in ranks. Should anything be sacrificed for happiness he didn't deserve? Especially his friend... He wouldn't let anyone die for him.

"Granger needs you," Theo said, his voice dripping of need and urgency. "Don't leave her like this, mate. Don't do it. Hasn't she had enough?"

"You promised," he reminded him.

"I lied."

"No, you didn't."

He pointed a threatening finger at him. "Don't think I'm not as good as a liar as you are!"

"You're better," Draco laughed.

"This isn't funny! Haven't we all had enough? Do you think I can let you do this?"

"I couldn't let you, but... My life has been complete."

Theo became red with agitation and anger. He threw the fire poker to the side standing up. "We're only nineteen! Our life is far from complete!"

Draco smiled wistfully, surprisingly calm. "I'm married. I got the woman I wanted for... Ever. I haven't done much right, but I can do this. I'll make up for my past."

"By doing this?"

He pulled his left sleeve up showing his Dark Mark. "Above it." It was the perfect spot. The dark age of his past and the resolution of his future side-by-side. A counteraction, sure, but a sign of change.

"I can't do this."

"What if it was someone you love, Theo? You'd do this for me, but I have to be the one. You know that I do."

Theo sighed, contemplating his words. He shook his head as he slid the ring on. He held Draco's wrist, inhaled a shaky breath and with his hand curled in a fist he pressed the white-hot ring into the skin below the crease of his elbow.

He gritted his teeth catching the edge of his tongue. He tasted blood, but he let it flood his mouth, it was a distraction. He had felt worse. It was nothing in comparison to how he he felt when he was placed under the Crucioutus Curse or seeing his parents or the mere fear that he would lose Hermione. Even receiving the Dark Mark had been worse. He would rather cut off his own arm to feel that tearing pain again.

Theo then released him, stepping back. He looked to be in pain too, or it might have been disgust. No, it was both. Draco knew those two feelings well.

The sleeve of Draco's robe fell covering the angry mark. "Thanks, mate."

"Do you reckon she'll forgive you for your idiocy?"

He smiled. "Probably not... She's such a stubborn Witch." He felt behind him, his fingers grazing the folded letter. He held it out. "Keep your other promises."

Theo snatched the letter tucking it into an inside pocket. "I'll give this to her afterwards. I'll take care of her, and I'll find this mystery person."

The shower cut off and Theo quickly tugged off his gloves throwing them in the corner of the kitchen, partially hidden by the overshadow of the lime green counters. He went to fold the blankets at the end of the sofa, smoothing it out. For Hermione.

Something struck Draco, the caring, the protectiveness. Taking care of Hermione. He cringed at the new picture, no longer just Hermione and Harriet, but now joined by Theo. A happy family. He wondered if Theo would fall in love with her the way he did. Would she love him back? That caused him a certain amount of bitterness around wounds the war caused. The war was going to give what he gained to Theo? If Hermione would be happy...

"Theo," he whispered hoping Hermione didn't overhear.

Theo turned from fluffing the pillow.

"If you two... I know that things can happen..." How could he word such permission? He was practically giving his best friend his okay for him to make a move on his wife. "It's all right. I'll understand. All I ask is that you wait until I die."

He wrinkled his nose like he smelled something foul. "She isn't my type."

The relief he felt was shameful, but it was too much to feel the latter. That picture became out of focus, an unrealistic blur. "That's right," he said cheerfully, "you like blonds."

***

It was absurd. Superstitious. Hermione didn't know why she was feeling dread. It wasn't like her, but it was effecting her motion. She was moving with exaggerated slowness, as if prolonging the inevitable, but what was that? What was she holding off?

She pulled one leg of her jeans on. Then the other. Uselessly she smoothed the wrinkles and ran her fingers through her dripping hair. She put on her blue shirt, her hair making dark splotches on the material.

She held the loose doorknob, but not turning it. She could sleep in there, in the bathroom. Why she avoided the lounge, she wished she knew. It was not as if she was about to face something unpleasant. Draco was on the other side and Theo wouldn't hurt her.

In the end she concluded that she was being silly. She walked out to the lounge and saw that Theo was lying at the foot of the front door, his arms sprawled above his head, a soft snore sounding from him. Draco laid beside the sofa, huddled in his cloak for warmth, only his fair hair could be seen. it was quite an adorable sight.

Hermione took the blankets that they set on the sofa and spread it over Theo. He coughed and sputtered as she did this, but quickly resumed his snoring. She stifled a laugh and moved to kneel beside Draco.

He was peaceful, unworried, like he always was when he slept. She slid the blanket over him resting the corner at his chin. She leaned down sweeping her fingers over his hair. She touched his cheek, the light stubble prickling her. She kissed his forehead and cheek. Without knowing why, she kissed the lobe of his ear and whispered, "I love you."

Of course, she received no response, he was asleep. That was fine with her, she just felt the need to say it, as though it would be the last time.

There she was again, overreacting. Maybe she was just tired, a yawn proving that she was as she fell onto the sofa. It felt like a fluff of clouds forming around her shape. She only moved to lie down and immediately settled into the realm of dreams. True dreams, filled with Draco and Harriet.

***

Draco cracked open an eye, instantly looking to the sofa where in the mysterious light through the windows he saw Hermione's shape, her breaths perfectly even and shallow.

"You're snore sounds fake," he informed Theo whose noise stopped abruptly.

"She bought it."

"She can't lie and she's not any good at detecting it either. We're lucky."

"Humph," he responded.

He moved to his knees, the blanket Hermione had covered him in fell. He leaned against the sofa staring into her sweet face. It was like that night he branded her. She was asleep and unsuspecting then too. It had been for her own good when he branded her. This time it was the same. It was for her own good.

He waved his wand over her, muttering the spell for a deep sleep. Theo would wake her when it was time.

Returning his wand to his pocket he touched her cheek. Soft as petals. Lilac and honey. He memorized the feel and the scent, and the light freckles on the bridge of her nose. He twirled a strand of her hair around his finger, letting the curl bounce back into place by her ear.

"She's beautiful," he breathed in agony.

"It's not too late."

"Go to Luna's flat and keep her there."

"You don't have to be the one to do this."

"Yes," he said cuttingly. The pressure on his chest was crushing him. He was hurting. "I do. I told her that our paths collided with each other's wrongly. I made mistakes, and messed up our future. What if I didn't? What if this is exactly like how it was supposed to be? I destroyed everything."

A heavy, constricting weight hit his shoulder. Theo's hand. "What if you stop thinking of what was suppose to be and lived with what you have now?"

"I can't let you take my place." Draco shrugged off his hand and slid his arms under Hermione. He lifted her and turned to lay her in Theo's outstretched arms. "Take care of her. That's all I ask."

"You have my word," he promised and looked down to Hermione's stomach. His eyes were not seeing her. "Love you, brother."

Draco slapped his shoulder not looking anywhere but at his best mate. "Love you too."

Theo stepped back, the soles of his heels on the yellow tile of kitchen. He looked up, his brown eyes glistening and he spun on the spot, disapparating.

They were gone. His friend and his wife. His family. He was on his own. No one was going to rescue him this time. Luna wasn't there.

Draco collapsed on the sofa, staring at the spot where his life had gone. The hole in his chest ripped itself out, but his eyes remained dry. Silently he cursed fate and everything it had done to him and Hermione. It separated them for good this time. He wouldn't turn back.

Just as he knew Hermione would be his heart he knew that he would have to clean up the mess that Potter made. Everything rested on him. Had it always? Was Potter a prop, a catalyst? Was it Draco who would be the chosen one?

It was the last thing he wanted to do, but he understood Potter, how he kept moving forward. Love. It was an emotion he might have been better off without. It never caused so many problems, but neither did it's opposition. Hate.

There he sat, his wound bleeding him out until he was empty and cold. Until he became numb.


	31. Chapter 31

Chapter Thirty-One

Sea of Killers

Just as Draco and Hermione left it, the front door of the Manor was wide open. With his wand in his hand he stood in the entrance. The sun rising behind him warming his back to the cold wind and casting his shadow in the empty lounge like a dark and forbidden guest, the rest of the room lit up from the space between his head and the frame of the door. It was large enough for a giant to fit through.

The lounge was not only void of the living but of the dead. All those Death Eaters Hermione accidentally killed were gone. The same person who took them had also taken the furniture. It was a large room, nothing more, but it was perfect for a summoning. Perhaps that was its only purpose, and there was never any furniture.

Leaving the door open Draco walked forward to stand in the center of the room. He hoped Theo was right, because if he wasn't he was unnecessarily dying because if he was taken off-guard... He wasn't certain he could fight off death long enough.

He tugged his left sleeve up. He gazed at his Dark Mark. It was filled with hate, a past he couldn't escape. It sickened him to know he would forever have it burned into his skin. Then there was its partner, a circular burn still glowing red. It out shined the other mark by its goodness and its reason.

Love... He had never expected to die this way. He thought he'd be an old man, content with his riches and his master. Instead he was young, poor, and his master was dead. He was more than happy with his Muggle-born wife and Muggle daughter. He was dying for them, for a cause. He knew what Hermione meant about that now, about honor. It was a noble reason, but he didn't care. As long as they were safe.

Draco dug the point of his wand into the head of the snake.

***

Hermione shifted, rolling to her side. It was an action that should have landed her on the floor. She should have been asleep on Theo's couch. Draco should have been beside her, Theo by the door. She remembered leaving them that way.

She opened her eyes blearily, the room, a room that she recognized as Luna's, was filmed over in her sleepiness. She didn't understand why she would be there, and she thought briefly that she was still asleep, and it was a dream.

Then she saw Theo, looking more tall and lanky standing there, his wand falling to his side as if he was about to cast a spell.

She shot up, curling herself in the corner and screaming. She hoped Draco would come in, tell her everything was all right. Explain things to her. But no one was coming.

Horrified Theo stumbled back until he was flat against the wall. He seemed to be stuttering too, but it couldn't be heard until her screams died out from lack of oxygen.

She was gasping and frantically searching for her wand feeling along the pockets of her jeans. Her heart was still attempting to make a mad leap from her chest. Her stomach dropped when she realized she didn't have her wand.

"It's all right," Theo wheezed, clearly startled by her reaction. "It's all right, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you."

By his inexplicable fear she calmed, her hand holding a stitch in her chest, trying in vain to keep her heart where it belonged. She swallowed dryly, no saliva left in her mouth. Her voice was hoarse as she asked, "what were you doing?!"

"Waking you," he confessed. "Draco put you in a deep sleep... Look, I have your wand here." He reached to his back pocket and withdrew her wand. With care he pitched it to her.

She caught it nimbly feeling a strength from it. She was armed. "Why?"

"In case you decided to curse me!"

She shook her head slowly. "No, I didn't mean why you had my wand. Why did Draco put a spell on me?"

His facial expression didn't change. He didn't reveal anything to her.

"Where is Draco?"

Theo's jaw twitched, tensing, his gaze burning holes into her.

Hermione moved from the bed, her legs wobbly as she walked to him. She knew deep in her gut that what she was about to hear would change her life forever, and not the way she would hope. no, these words would be her doom.

She placed her wand in her pocket and gripped his shoulders. It made him look her straight on, his eyes focusing on hers and for that she wished she had kept her distance. They were filled to the brim with tears. Something horrible happened.

"Theo, where is Draco?"

"He wanted me to keep you safe."

"Where's Draco?"

"He wanted me to find someone."

"Theo?"

"He made me promise."

Her heart was racing again, harder than when she first woke up. "Tell me!"

Theo didn't flinch at her tone, he was steady, but fear continued to roll off of him drowning them both. "I branded him. He's going to summon the Death Eaters - Granger!"

Hermione started towards the only door in the room. She had gotten as far as the frame when Theo snatched her up by her waist, carrying her away, rambling about promises that she couldn't properly hear because she was truly drowning then.

Draco was taking her sacrifice for his own. She was intensely angry, the familiar room coated in red. He had no right. That was what she was yelling at the top of her lungs.

"He has no right! He has no right!"

Theo's arms were vices around her as she clawed his hands, squirming to get away. His skin was raised gathering under her nails, she felt something warm on her fingers. Blood. She smelled it as soon as she ripped the flesh. It made her dizzy. Visions of Teddy, Harry, Ginny, George, and one that didn't belong, one that hadn't happened. Yet. Draco dead in his own blood.

"He has no right," she cried. How could he? How could Draco do this to her? Didn't he realize that she loved him too? Didn't he stop and think what it would do to her? It would kill her, of that she was certain.

Then her shoulder exploded in pain, her brand melting the flesh from the bone. It was like the Cruciatus curse concentrated on her brand. She gripped her shoulder and dropped, not feeling the floor as it came up to meet her.

Theo was bellowing beside her, but he was fading until he wasn't there at all.

***

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten... Twenty... Twenty-five... Draco counted as each Death Eater appeared around him, every one of them with their hoods down in respect and none of them released their wands from their pockets. Theo had been right, he was considered the new leader.

At around fifty he lost count, not daring to look anywhere but at those in front of him.

The sea of killers knelt at his feet.

There was a great sense of pride, but mostly what he felt was power. All of these Wizards and Witches devoted themselves to him. They were at his mercy, at his beck and call. He would be served like a King. He was feared. He was safe. He would never have to hide again. He was rich once more.

The one emotion that overrode all of that was disgust at himself for feeling it. These were the very people that killed his parents and Hermione's family. They were murderers. They would pay for their crimes just as he would, but he would be the one to deliver the punishment to those he hated the most.

"Who was assigned Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy," he asked loudly.

To his right the sea parted and three men emerged all looking to be brothers. They each had a mop of pepper hair and aged lines in their faces. They had to be in their late fifties at least, but none of this mattered to him. His stomach contracted and rolled and he thought he was going to be sick. So these were the men that killed his mother and father.

They knelt and the middle one pipped up. "Sir, if I may explain -"

"You may not! Don't you dare speak to me! You aren't worthy!" His voice lightly echoed and he could hear how frightening he sounded and relished in the flinches and grimaces around him.

"We were assigned, sir! Lestrange gave them to us. It's in the - " The man cut off suddenly when Draco aimed his wand at his nose.

The three brothers were visibly shaking. To invoke such fear gave him another burst of pride. These men were under his decision - his ruling. They were begging to live. He had the power to take away the beat of their disgusting hearts. It was a power he was going to use.

"Avada Kedarva," he proclaimed calmly watching the emerald light glow on his startled face before he crumpled sideways.

Stricken with fear, the other two brothers opened their mouths to protest their would-be loyalties but they didn't have the chance to utter a word before Draco killed them too. He smiled with satisfaction.

The atmosphere tensed, the sea rippled nervously, Draco twirled his wand. "The ones that were assigned to the Weasley household, step forth."

Eleven people stood and strolled in front of him, kneeling respectively. One in the middle, a bald man dared to look at him.

"Sir, if I may speak, we have guessed the Carrow's were lying about the Mudblood with you. If it's not to punish us for ridding our world of the un-pure, surely you must be rewarding us."

Draco smirked. "Who did you kill?"

The man grinned triumphantly. "Teddy Lupin and Fleur Delacour, sir. The half-bred werewolf and the blood-traitor."

His body ran cold, ice in his veins, his hair standing up and his wand shaking in his grip. He felt like he was going into shock staring at the man who killed a child. He would lose any contents of his stomach at least.

"I killed Harry Potter," the one at the left end informed, clearly expecting praise.

Draco nodded sparing a glance for the bulky man. He didn't appear important or worthy of anything. He was plain in his features, and possibly for that was why he searched for satisfaction of his evil deeds. It almost seemed a waste that Potter would die at the hand of someone like that. Potter was one to go out in a blazing glory, not in a basement by an unknown.

"Did none of you see the Mudblood Granger," Draco asked them, watching as they each blanched.

The bald man shook his head. "She wasn't there, sir."

"She wouldn't leave Potter's side. She was there."

"Sir -"

"She should have been your main concern after Potter!" His stomach rolled as he comprehended what he was saying to his followers. "He would've never got as far as he did without her!"

"What would you like us to do?"

That was the question Draco wanted, the very one that all of them asked Voldemort. He had his answer prepared. "Die."

From left to right he murdered the men responsible for Hermione's unhappiness, for her pain. For his. They laid in useless heaps. It was an awful sense of accomplishment - avenging the deaths of your wife's family - of your past enemies. Avenging your parents. He felt that he was ready to die as well, and it was a good thing. Every wand was aimed at him, knowing now where his true allegiance lied, and every one shot a curse to end his life.

Draco more or less left his body. The pain was blinding and he felt an odd pulling sensation, something disconnecting him from it all, but he was measuring his heart beats, he reminded himself to breathe, and with each one he felt himself slide further and further away. He knew he was writhing on the floor and screaming, he just couldn't feel anything but the killing pressure and that annoying tugging.

He had wondered what dying would be like ever since Hermione was tortured in his drawing room. If he had flashbacks of her during her near-death-experience, what would his own bring?

What he saw didn't surprise him. It comforted him. At least the last sight he would see would be them. His wife holding their daughter. A happy, safe, family.

That was what Draco saw last.

***

Theo's mother died giving birth to him. His father was killed in the Battle of Hogwarts. Since then he witnessed countless deaths. Some by his own hand. So anyone would think that he would know death, but he didn't. He didn't know what it felt like. He had never died himself, and never gave much thought about it, his concern for the present.

Yet it was the present and Theo was dying. If he had ever given thought about his death before he was certain he wouldn't have come close to the actuality of how painful and releasing it felt. He wouldn't have come close to imaging of how he would die.

He was dying because his friend was dying. The woman next to him was dying for the same reason. Because of Draco and the obvious fact that he couldn't hold on was why they couldn't either. When one died, so did the other.

It was funny... He never guessed he'd be dying next to a Mudblood. His ancestors were rolling over in their graves, a continuous circle since he faked his death and helped her.

Oddly enough he wanted to help her then. He wanted to reach out to her, but he couldn't locate his limbs. He was floating away and he hoped she was too. It was painful, a ripping of the body, a fire. He couldn't contain such suffering, someone who had suffered so much in his lifetime.

Then... There was nothingness... The pain was gone, and though he initially rejoiced in it, he was disappointed. Was this all there was? Complete darkness? Or was this his punishment for all of his deeds?

Theo wanted to feel around, to instinctively hold his hands in front of him to check if he could see them, and if they were there to feel something or someone else. However, he still couldn't find his limbs.

"You don't belong here."

He heard the voice crystalline in his right ear. It was Granger's, but in the pitch black he couldn't see her.

"Go back," said Draco from his left.

Theo tried to recall how to use his voice, but it was lost too. It seemed unfair. Draco wasn't much better than him, how come he got to keep his voice?

"Hermione's right, you don't belong here."

That was a relief... _I would have gotten bored,_ he thought only semi-sarcastic.

"The Death Eaters are dead. Give out the word and help rebuild our world. Find our daughter Harriet Ronda Theodora Malfoy. Raise her, please."

"She's Muggle," Hermione added, "just a baby in Athens."

His mind reeled. Baby? Was that who Draco wanted him to search for? They had a Muggle daughter? When in the hell did they get time to adopt? He felt like punching Draco... If only he could, but something else occurred to him. Theodora. They named her after him. It was a good thing he couldn't speak, he didn't know what to say. He didn't know how he felt. He wasn't worthy of being someone's namesake.

"My parents," Hermione said, "they are in Australia. Please, leave them be. I don't want them to know about me."

"Oh, and Theo, mate, thank you."

"We have to go now. Our time's up. Thank you."

Theo slipped and fell.

* * *

A/N: First off, I'm sorry to those who wanted them to live!

Secondly, I hope that it was clear how Draco and Hermione died. If it's not, here's an explaination: When Hermione was the one being cursed and Draco thought her to be dead he was clearly wrong, but not just about her death but about how the curse worked. If she had died, so would he. The brand is a connection between the one who is branded and the brander. Draco didn't know this and never imagined she would die because he did.

wander-and-wonder asked a really good question on why Harriet lived if she had the same brand. My answer to that was: The reason is because the brand doesn't work the same on babies as it does on adults. The brand is an evil spell, more like a curse, and Draco is the only one known for using it for good. On babies, the brand works the opposite. If Draco had hurt her (he never would have) it would reflect the pain back to him. Now that he's dead the brand has simply disappeared without a mark. She'll never know the it was there.


	32. Epilogue

Epilogue

Twenty Years Later

Theo pitched the Daily Prophet to the center of the table, the moving picture on the front teasing him. It had been years - twenty to be precise - that he was able to leave the magical newspaper about. It didn't give him the solace he thought it would. It became a deeply ingrained habit to hide such things, he hadn't so much as used his wand in years.

The picture showed the newly-made sculpture of a Phoenix soaring into flight in the atrium of the Ministry of Magic. It symbolized the Order of the Phoenix, an organized group of the late Albus Dumbledore to fight Death Eaters and thwart Voldemort. They were given the credit for what Draco did, a man who never partook in such groups. It made Theo's blood boil, but who was going to listen to him? As far as anyone knew, he was dead, and since his changed lifestyle he preferred to remain that way.

Twenty years... It only seemed like yesterday he woke up in Lovegood's old bedroom next to Granger. He remembered panicking, fumbling over her neck and wrist for a pulse. He pressed his hear to her chest, desperate to hear a thud. He wanted more than anything for his "dream" to be just that - a dream. Needless to say, it wasn't, and their upward curved lips continued to haunt him.

When it was apparent that Hermione was dead, he left to pick up Draco's body. He was numb the whole way to England and to the old Malfoy Manor, but once he laid sights on his best mate lying motionless among the other bodies, he broke down. Literally. He fell to the floor, he screamed, and he had his inside ripped out. He cursed their identical smiles, their happiness at death.

Immediately after returning to Athens Theo went to the nearest Muggle hospital. After barely twenty-four hours she was still there, the toothless grinning Harriet. Grinning... Happy... Unbeknown to her, she had just lost her parents. But Theo understood then why they chose to be her parents, he fell in love with her just as easily as they did. She was precious. Theirs. His. Draco was such a sucker. Like him.

The last spell he cast was to "persuade" the nurse to give her to him. He left with her, and straightaway hid his wand behind a fireplace of his inherited house in England. He set up her room, and learned things the hard way, changing diapers, and warming bottles (seven of which exploded). And he thought all that Muggle studying in Hogwarts was useless! He was glad he had listened to his father. "Know your enemy." He snorted thinking about it now.

Every time Harriet cried, or giggled, or grabbed his finger he blamed Draco and Hermione. He blamed them for not being in her life, watching her grow up. He loathed them when she held her bottle on her own for the first time, her first word (unca), her first steps, even the first time she cursed when she fell off her bike (Theo was more careful about his language from then on). It wasn't until she was walking into a small brick building, her pink backpack bouncing with her skipping steps that he stopped blaming them. He knew Draco and though he hardly knew Hermione, he knew that if given the chance they would be in his place seeing her off to her first day of school. The only thing he didn't blame them for was adopting Harriet. No, she was the light in his dark life. His sun.

There was no need to give word that the war was finally over. After three days of calm, no mass murders, the hidden ones came out. It was like watching fearful cubs slinking out of their lairs expecting a predator to swoop in on them. They were easy to pick out of a crowd, they were the ones that were constantly looking over their shoulders. It would have been funny if it wasn't so sad.

"Uncle Theo?"

Theo smiled and pushed away from the table hitting the swinging door of the kitchen as he slipped into the lounge. His smiled widen as he saw his niece slamming the front door with her heel dropping a bulking case to the floor.

Black hair to her waist, the same bright cobalt blue eyes, and her glittering smile. He was horribly grateful that she wasn't Draco's and Hermione's blood daughter. He didn't know if he could take the gray eyes and bushy brown hair. It hurt enough to think their daughter would never know them.

She certainly made something of herself. She went through a university, and she took a career as a cop. Theo thought it coincidental since that was what Draco and Hermione were doing, acting as Aurors.

"Ugh," she groaned giving the room a once-over and walked over to the fireplace swiping her finger over the mantle and bringing it up to her face to examine. "Haven't you dusted?"

"Can't you see," he asked.

"I leave for a week with my friends and you can't even take care of yourself!"

"I take care of myself just fine, Harriet. What do you think I did before you were born?"

She shrugged. "You never talk about your past. You barely talk about my parents."

He knew where this was going. It always led this way when Harriet tried researching her parents. Nearly every year she thought that something would turn up, that she would find something that she didn't before. It was impossible since Draco wouldn't be listed in any Muggle papers and Hermione burned any records of herself before she went on the Horcrux hunt. "We don't know who -"

"Not my blood parents," she interrupted.

His heart retracted painfully. He found it odd that she cared little for her blood parents, but for her adoptive parents. Perhaps because she had a link to them through him.

It was not as though Theo never spoke of them. He told her they were like. Draco was a bully, Hermione was a goody-two-shoes. They were opposites in every way possible, and they were madly in love with each other. This never seemed to be enough for Harriet, she wanted to know more, she felt like she was missing something about them. And she was right. Not only was she missing them, she was missing the fact that they died for her and everyone else in the world. That they were the reason she was alive. She didn't know that, nor would she ever. Her parents were truly unnamed to the world. Forgotten.

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. A nervous habit. "Why aren't there any pictures?"

_Because they magically move_. "Because they burned in the fire."

"That's a lie, uncle! I searched the papers. There was no fire! There was nothing! I can't find their names! All I have is this ring to prove they exist!" She lifted her hand showing Draco's family crest on her right hand.

"Yes," he admitted walking forward and embracing her. Her arms were limp at her sides. "I'm sorry that you can't know the truth but know that they love you. I love you."

She lifted her arms to hug him back. "I know. I love you too, uncle. It's just that every year I think..."

"I know...You think you'll find something."

"There isn't, is there?"

"I've told you before..."

She sighed, disheartened. "I think it all adds up... That odd tattoo on your arm, the weird way there's no records... My name."

She was too perceptive. If she was Hermione's daughter, he would've thought she inherited that from her. "What's odd about your name? Harriet's perfectly normal." _A little too normal_, he thought, _for a couple named Draco and Hermione._

"Harriet Ronda Theodora Malfoy? That's a mouth-full."

He laughed. "Harriet and Ronda is after two men named Harry and Ron. They were your mum's best friends. Theodora, is of course, after me."

She released him walking to the mantel, picking up the picture frame. Gingerly she touched the glass.

"I tried looking up them too, you know. There's nothing about a Ron Weasley and a Harry Potter. At least none that fit. It's like you made them up to give me answers and I know you didn't. There's the ring... And this picture that seems to be too real."

Theo peered over her shoulder at his small painting. Hermione was smiling, Draco wrapping his arms from behind her kissing her blushing cheek.

One night when Harriet was fast asleep in her cot, he painted the picture of her parents. She couldn't see any real ones without knowing what they were. It was the safest way and the least of what she deserved. She deserved much more, she deserved to have them alive.

One day, she would get a feel for the sacrifice they made. One day she would open up that frame and see her father's last letter to her and her mother behind it. For now, she wasn't ready. She thought she was, but Theo knew she wasn't.

"Tell me one thing?"

"Anything, Harriet."

"Did they die because of me?"

He touched her hair. "No. They died for you."

In her reflection her eyes shined. "I suppose that's all I need to know..."

"Yes," he agreed, "that's all you need to know."

* * *

A/N: My thanks goes out to all of the reviewers! You certainly lightened up this story with your comments, reactions, and questions. It's such a joy to hear what you have to say. Thank you!

I'm working on another Dramione story. I can't say when it'll begin posting, but I can say that it's much lighter than this.

For my own entertainment I started a fanfiction based "journal". If you're curious you'll be able to see it in the homepage listed in my profile. I know many people don't check profile's but I found many homepages I've liked through them. It's quite interesting in the least.


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